I cannot."

"But, Stephen----"

"Ursula, you don't doubt me? You don't think--you can't think I knew?
You can't think I planned this--this----" He faltered as his eyes
turned upon the limp body he still carried in his hands. He had passed
his word to the King to be silent, and even if he spoke, the truth
would only add horror to horrors. "Ursula--beloved!" Laying Charlot
on the table he held out his hands in appeal, to have them caught in
both hers, and he himself drawn into her arms.

"Doubt you? No, Stephen, no, no; I trust you utterly--utterly. And
cannot you trust me? We have the boy to think of--the Dauphin--he must
be protected. But for Charlot he--he--oh! I cannot say it. Stephen,
don't you see? don't you understand? How can we guard him in the dark?
The mask, Stephen: whose was it? where did it come from? Tell me for
the boy's sake."

"I cannot, Ursula. Dearest heart, I cannot."

Lifting from the table the napkin in which the mask had been wrapped,
Villon shook it out, holding it up much as La Mothe had held the
coat-of-mail. Then he threw it on the table, spreading it flat.

"Fleur-de-lys," he said, his finger on the woven pattern.

"Fleur-de-lys and--Stephen, you came from Valmy? Oh! My God! My God!
I understand it all. So that is why you are in Amboise?"

Villon nodded gravely. Temperamentally he was the most emotional of
the three, and the tragedy in little, which so nearly had been a
tragedy in great, had so shaken his nerve that he controlled his tongue
with difficulty.

"Yes," he said slowly, "that is why he is in Amboise, and he never knew
it. There were two arrows on the string, Saxe and this. And it might
have been me." He turned to La Mothe. "You saved me; but for you it
would have been me."

But La Mothe gave him no answer. For the moment it seemed as if he had
forgotten Villon's existence altogether. His arms were round the girl,
one hand mechanically stroking her shoulder to quiet her fears, lover
fashion, and comfort her with his nearness. But his thoughts were in
Valmy, a thin, tired voice whispering in his ears, a white face whose
eyes smouldered fire looking into his. With a shiver he roused himself.

"Yes, I came from Valmy, and I must go back to Valmy; I must go this
very night. Saxe used to keep a horse always ready," he ended, with
the bitterness of shame in his voice.

"Stephen, was it for this?"

"I suppose so. But I must go to Valmy to-night.