uld tell her that she herself had shown
much of Joan's strong courage, singleness of heart, and unselfish
spirit, she added, "It was a sorrowful year when France lost so great a
soul."

"But France is never long bereaved," replied Villon, and from his tone
they could not say if he spoke in jest or earnest. "If a great soul
went, a great soul came--I was born that year! La Mothe, Charlot is no
respecter of the rights of princes."

"Charlot! You mischievous dog!" Stooping to rescue the mask, Ursula
de Vesc caught the puppy with both hands to drag him towards her; but
at the first touch she let him slip from her hold and drew back,
startled, looking up into La Mothe's face as he bent over her. The
plump little body relaxed heavily, sluggishly on its side. "Stephen,
Charlot is dead!"

"Dead? Not possible, Ursula!" Stooping in turn he lifted the dog; but
the limbs sagged loosely downward and the head rolled over on the
shoulders. The eyes were fixed and glazed, the chaps twitched back
from the gums, leaving the teeth bared. There could be no
doubt--Charlot's days of curiosity were ended.

"Stephen, what does it mean? What can have hurt poor Charlot?" But
when reaching downward again she would have picked up the mask Villon
anticipated her, setting his foot upon it.

"Don't touch it, for God's sake, don't touch it!"

"Monsieur Villon, that is the Dauphin's."

"It killed Charlot!"

"Killed Charlot? How?"

"Ask La Mothe, he gave it to the Dauphin and should know."

Perplexed, bewildered, vexed, too, at the destruction of the Dauphin's
toy and the tone of Villon's reply, she caught at the table-edge,
pulling herself upright.

"Stephen, what does it all mean?"

But La Mothe only shook his head. Comprehension had been staggered but
had recovered, and was growing to conviction as small significances,
luminous and imperative in spite of their triviality, pieced themselves
together in his memory. But how could he answer the question? How put
in words the fear which was taking shape in his mind? It was Villon
who gave her the key.

"Poison."

"Poison?" she repeated, shrinking in a natural repulsion. "Poison on a
mask you gave the Dauphin? Stephen, how could that be? But you must
answer, you must tell us," she insisted as he shook his head for the
second time, "you must, you must!"

"I cannot." He spoke curtly, harshly, but the determination was
unmistakable. Twice he repeated it. "I cannot,