ienne believed he meant it.

"Monsieur," he answered, "I have shilly-shallied long; but I am planted
squarely at last with my father on the king's side. You put your
interesting nephew into my father's house to kill him; I shall not sign
myself with the League."

"In that case," returned Mayenne, "perhaps we might each continue on his
way."

"With all my heart, monsieur."

Each drew back against the wall to let the other pass, with a wary eye
for daggers. Then M. Etienne, laughing a little, but watching Mayenne
like a lynx, started to go by. The duke, seeing the look, suddenly
raised his hands over his head, holding them there while both of us
squeezed past him.

"Cousin Charles," said M. Etienne, "I see that when I have married
Lorance you and I shall get on capitally. Till then, God have you ever
in guard."

"I thank you, monsieur. You make me immortal."

"I have no need to make you witty. M. de Mayenne, when you have
submitted to the king, as you will one of these days, I shall have as
delightful a kinsman as heart of man could wish. You and I will yet
drink a loving-cup together. Till that happy hour, I am your good enemy.
Fare you well, monsieur."

He bowed; the duke, half laughing despite a considerable ire, returned
the obeisance with all pomp. M. Etienne took me by the arm and departed.
Mayenne stood still for a space; then we heard his retreating
footsteps, and the glimmer of his light slowly faded away.

[Illustration: "WE CLIMBED OUT INTO A SILK-MERCER'S SHOP."]

"It wasn't necessary to tell him the door is bolted," M. Etienne
muttered.

We hurried along now without precaution, knowing that the floor which
had supported Mayenne would support us. The consequence was that we
stumbled abruptly against a step, and fell with a force like to break
our kneecaps. I picked myself up at once, and ran headlong up the
stairs, to hit my crown on the ceiling and reel back on M. Etienne,
sweeping him off his feet, so that we rolled in a struggling heap on the
stones of the passage. And for the minute the place was no longer dark;
I saw more lightning than even flashed in the Rue Coupejarrets.

"Are you hurt, Felix?" cried M. Etienne, the first to disentangle
himself.

"No," I said, groaning; "but I banged my head. She did not say it was a
trap-door."

We ascended the stairs a second time--this time most cautiously on our
hands and knees. Above us, at the end, we could feel, with upleaping of
spirit, a wo