him from
under her dark lashes, and whose colour came and went as she returned
his bow with stately courtesy--he knew what her mother had once been
like.

"Monsieur has ridden far," the marquise said, as she motioned him to a
seat by the fire where they had been sitting, and regarded him with
interest; "has come a long, perhaps perilous, voyage from Pontarlier?
The roads at this season are none too safe, they say, in spite of the
_Marechausse_. Yet, monsieur is a soldier."

St. Georges bowed in reply--though swift as lightning there flashed
through his mind the thought that the words "perilous voyage" showed
that she knew, doubtless, of one great danger to which he had been
exposed. Then he replied:

"As madame remarks, it was long and has been somewhat eventful. Yet,
as I have said, I ride in the king's service. It may be that you know
that, madame?"

"I know," she replied, "that you were to call at the Bishop of
Lodeve's--ce _Phelypeaux_!--and take from him one word to the king, or
to Louvois. Also that you are charged to take another word, perhaps a
similar one, from me. Is it not so?"

Remembering what the bishop had said, recalling his utterance--"There
is no need of secrecy; you may frankly tell her"--he answered: "It is
so, madame. The bishop has sent the word. It may be that you will send
the same by me when I ride forth to-morrow."

Her glance rested on him ere she answered. It seemed as if her reply
depended on some unknown, subtle something pertaining to his mind or
face which she was endeavouring to decipher or understand. Then she
let her eyes fall upon the logs burning in the grate, and said:

"How can I say? You do not as yet tell me the word the bishop has
sent."

Again he recalled Phelypeaux's remark that there was no need of
secrecy. Therefore he answered, "The word that the bishop has sent,
madame, is 'Yes.'"

"Ah!" she said, and again her glance scanned his face half eagerly,
half wistfully, while now he noticed that Mademoiselle de Roquemaure's
hand stole into hers as she sat by her side.

"Ah! It is as I thought: the word is 'Yes.'"

"That is it, madame."

"Come," she said, moving from her seat as the old servitor appeared in
the shadows far down the room--"come; supper is served. Monsieur St.
Georges, I pray you give me your arm"; and she placed her hand on it,
and, her daughter following, went with him to the door. Then, ere they
reached the corridor, she, looking up into his fa