ed pondering of the possibilities of
Marius's wedding Valerie.

But Garnache dispelled such speculations.

"No, madame," said he. "Marius looks elsewhere for a wife--unless
mademoiselle of her own free will should elect to wed him--a thing
unlikely." Then, with a sudden change to sternness--"Mademoiselle de La
Vauvraye is well, madame?" he asked.

She nodded her head, but made no answer in words. He turned to Fortunio.

"Go fetch her," he bade the captain, and one of the men unlocked the
door to let Fortunio out upon that errand.

The Parisian took a turn in the apartment, and came close to Tressan.
He nodded to the Seneschal with a friendliness that turned him sick with
fright.

"Well met, my dear Lord Seneschal. I am rejoiced to find you here. Had
it been otherwise I must have sent for you. There is a little matter
to be settled between us. You may depend upon me to settle it to your
present satisfaction, if to your future grief." And, with a smile, he
passed on, leaving the Seneschal too palsied to answer him, too stricken
to disclaim his share in what had taken place at Condillac.

"You have terms to make with me?" the Marquise questioned proudly.

"Certainly," he answered, with his grim courtesy. "Upon your acceptance
of those terms shall depend Marius's life and your own future liberty."

"What are they?"

"That within the hour all your people--to the last scullion--shall have
laid down their arms and vacated Condillac."

It was beyond her power to refuse.

"The Marquis will not drive me forth?" she half affirmed, half asked.

"The Marquis, madame, has no power in this matter. It is for the Queen
to deal with your insubordination--for me as the Queen's emissary."

"If I consent, monsieur, what then?"

He shrugged his shoulders, and smiled quietly.

"There is no 'if,' madame. Consent you must, willingly or unwillingly.
To make sure of that have I come back thus and with force. But should
you deliver battle, you will be worsted--and it will be very ill for
you. Bid your men depart, as I have told you, and you also shall have
liberty to go hence."

"Aye, but whither?" she cried, in a sudden frenzy of anger.

"I realize, madame, from what I know of your circumstances that you will
be well-nigh homeless. You should have thought of how one day you might
come to be dependent upon the Marquis de Condillac's generosity before
you set yourself to conspire against him, before you sought to encompass
his