ride. Derider of priests, despoiler of purity, mocker of Holy Church,
your impious reign is at an end."

Tressan fell back aghast, his face blenching to the lips; for if justice
was at hand for her, as the Abbot said, then was justice at hand for
him as well. Where had their plans miscarried? What flaw was there that
hitherto she had not perceived? Thus he questioned himself in his sudden
panic.

But the Marquise was no sharer in his tremors. Her eyes opened a trifle
wider; a faint colour crept into her cheeks; but her only emotions were
of amazement and indignation. Was he mad, this shaveling monk? That was
the question that leapt into her mind, the very question with which she
coldly answered his outburst.

"For madness only," she thought fit to add, "could excuse such rash
temerity as yours."

"Not madness, madame," he answered, with chill haughtiness--"not
madness, but righteous indignation. You have defied the power of Holy
Church as you have defied the power of our sovereign lady, and justice
is upon you. We are here to present the reckoning, and see its payment
made in full."

She fancied he alluded to the body in the coffin--the body of her
stepson--and she could have laughed at his foolish conclusions that
she must account Florimond's death an act of justice upon her for her
impiety. But her rising anger left her no room for laughter.

"I thought, sir priest, you were come to bury the dead. But it rather
seems you are come to talk."

He looked at her long and sternly. Then he shook his head, and the
faintest shadow of a smile haunted his ascetic face.

"Not to talk, madame; oh, not to talk," he answered slowly. "But to act,
I have come, madame, to liberate from this shambles the gentle lamb you
hold here prisoned."

At that some of the colour left her cheeks; her eyes grew startled: at
last she began to realize that all was not as she had thought--as she
had been given to understand.--Still, she sought to hector it, from very
instinct.

"Vertudieu!" she thundered at him. "What mean you?"

Behind her Tressan's great plump knees were knocking one against the
other. Fool that he had been to come to Condillac that day, and to be
trapped thus in her company, a partner in her guilt. This proud Abbot
who stood there uttering denunciations had some power behind him,
else had he never dared to raise his voice in Condillac within call of
desperate men who would give little thought to the sacredness, of his