ite, and hissed at her.

"Be still, madman," admonished the dwarf. "Thou art an intruder here.
The peasants will drive thee up chimney. Low-born people, when they get
into good quarters, always try to put their betters out."

Shubenacadie waddled on, scarcely recovered from the prostration of his
fright, and inclined to hold the inmates of the tower accountable for
it. Marie had just left Pierre Doucett, and his nurses were so busy with
him that the swan was not detected until he scattered the children from
the stairs.

"Now, Mademoiselle Nightingale," said Zelie, coming heavily across the
flags, "have we not enough strange cattle in this tower, that you must
bring that creature in against my lady's orders?"

"He shall not stand out there under D'Aulnay's guns. Besides, Madame
Marie hath need of him," declared Le Rossignol impudently. "She would
have me ride to D'Aulnay's camp and bring her word how many men have
fallen there to-day."

Zelie shivered through her indignation.

"Do you tell me such a tale, when you were shut in the turret for that
very sin?"

"Sin that is sin in peace is virtue in war," responded Le Rossignol.
"Mount, Shubenacadie."

"My lady will have his neck, wrung," threatened Zelie.

"She dare not. The chimney will tumble in. The fort will be taken."

"Art thou working against us?" demanded the maid wrathfully.

"Why should I work for you? You should, indeed, work for me. Pick me up
this swan and carry him to the top of the stairs."

"I will not do it!" cried Zelie, revolting through every atom of her
ample bulk. "Do I want to be lifted over the turret like thistledown?"

The dwarf laughed, and caught her swan by the back of his neck. With
webbed toes and beating wings he fought every step; but she pulled
herself up by the balustrade and dragged him along. His bristling
plumage scraped the upper floor until he and his wrath were shut within
the dwarf's chamber.

"Naught but muscle and bone and fire and flax went to the making of that
stunted wight," mused Zelie, setting her knuckles in her hips. "What a
pity that she escapes powder and ball, when poor Pierre Doucett is shot
down!--a man with wife and child, and useful to my lady besides."

It was easy for Claude La Tour's widow to fill her idleness with visions
of political alliance, but when D'Aulnay de Charnisay began to batter
the walls round her ears, her common sense resumed sway. She could be of
no use outside her apartment, s