send for me as you sat over your wine, and I would run in to
kiss you and be fed comfits from your pockets. I thought you the
handsomest and gallantest gentleman in France, as indeed you were."

"You were the prettiest little creature ever was," Mayenne said
abruptly.

"And my little heart was bursting with love and admiration of you," she
returned. "When I first could lisp, I learned to pray for my cousin
Henri and my cousin Charles. I have never forgotten them one night in
all these years. 'God receive and bless the soul of Henri de Guise; God
guard and prosper Charles de Mayenne.' But you make it hard for me to
ask it for my cousin Charles."

"This is a great coil over a horse-boy," Mayenne said curtly.

"Life is as dear to a horse-boy as to M. le Duc de Mayenne."

"I tell you I did not mean to kill the boy," Mayenne said. "With the
door shut he could hear nothing. I meant to question him and let him go.
But you have seen fit to meddle in what is no maid's business,
mademoiselle. You have unlocked the door and let him listen to my
concerns. Dead men, mademoiselle, tell no tales."

"M. de Mayenne," she said, "I cannot see that you need trouble for the
tales of boys--you, the lord of half France. But if you must needs fear
his tongue, why, even then you should set him free. He is but a
serving-boy sent here with a message. It is wanton murder to take his
life; it is like killing a child."

"He is not so harmless as you would lead one to suppose, mademoiselle,"
the duke retorted. "Since you have been eavesdropping, you have heard
how he upset your cousin Paul's arrangements."

"For that you should be thankful to him, monsieur. He has saved you the
stain of a cowardly crime."

"Mordieu!" Mayenne exclaimed, "who foully murdered my brother?"

"The Valois."

"And his henchman, St. Quentin."

"Not so," she cried. "He was here in Paris when it happened. He was
revolted at the deed."

"Did they teach you that at the convent?"

"No, but it is true. M. de St. Quentin warned my cousin Henri not to go
to Blois."

"Pardieu, you think them angels, these St. Quentins."

"I think them brave and honest gentlemen, as I think you, Cousin
Charles."

"That sounds ill on the lips that have but now called me villain and
murderer," Mayenne returned.

"I have not called you that, monsieur; I said you had been saved from
the guilt of murder, and I knew one day you would be glad."

He kept silence, eying her in a puzzled