hould have slain him despite his troopers but for a crushing pike
blow over the head, so swiftly did it all come about.

My brain reeled; the sword dropped clanging from my nerveless hand.
When I recovered, I found myself bound upon a horse behind one of the
men.

"On with him, men, to Cartillon; there we rest this night in the King's
name."

In this wise we rode along; Ortez openly exultant, I silent and
scornful.

"Aha, my fine brother," he spoke low at my saddle, "thy father's son
has thee in his power now. And shall I not revenge upon thee the wrong
our father did my mother for thine? Didst know the story?"

I made no reply, but he went on unmindful.

"To _my_ mother he gave his love but dared not give his name; to thy
mother he gave his name but could never give his love. So thou art the
proud Lord of Cartillon, and I the outcast soldier of fortune, the
nameless adventurer, slayer of women--what thou wilt. But things are
changed now. Before many hours I will be the Count d'Artin, and thou a
dishonored corpse, sweet brother."

"Thou! _Thou_ my brother?"

I turned upon him a look of incredulous contempt, yet, for I had heard
some such tale of my father's youth, I asked:

"Thy mother was--?"

"Nanon Esculas, whom thy father abducted in Spain to desert in France."

"My heart sank; I had seen the woman, and knew her son for one of the
most courageous and unprincipled adventurers who hung about the Court
and held their swords for hire. When the noisy troop rode up to the
gates of Cartillon their leader paused, a head appeared upon the
battlements.

"Guise," cried Ortez, giving the watchword of that day of slaughter.
The drawbridge lowered, and open swung the gates.

"Welcome to Cartillon, d'Artin," Ortez bowed. "Here at last we find
rest and refreshment. Let a feast be spread in the great hall, ransack
the place for good cheer. We've done brave work this glorious day, my
lads, and a merry ending we'll have before the night is gone."

Everywhere in the courtyard were evidences of bloody conflict. Singly,
in groups and in hideous crimson-splashed piles lay Catholics and
Huguenots together, peaceful enough in death.

"By my faith, and a gallant set of gentlemen we have here," laughed
Ortez. "What think you, brother mine?"

And even as he spoke he leaned from his saddle to strike down a half
dying wretch who lifted his head from among the slain.

"Perez," he called to his sergeant riding beh