become you."

"What can you expect, Mme. de Brie?" Mlle. Blanche promptly demanded.
"Mlle. de Montluc is weary and worn from her vigils at your son's
bedside."

Mme. de Montpensier had the temerity to laugh; but for the rest, a sort
of little groan ran through the company. Mme. de Mayenne bade sharply,
"Peace, Blanche!" Mme. de Brie, red with anger, flamed out on her and
Mlle. de Montluc equally:

"You impudent minxes! 'Tis enough that one of you should bring my son
to his death, without the other making a mock of it."

"He's not dying," began the irrepressible Blanche de Tavanne, her eyes
twinkling with mischief; but whatever naughty answer was on her tongue,
our mademoiselle's deeper voice overbore her:

"I am guiltless of the charge, madame. It was through no wish of mine
that your son, with half the guard at his back, set on one wounded man."

"I'll warrant it was not," muttered Mlle. Blanche.

"Mar has turned traitor, and deserves nothing so well as to be spitted
in the dark," Mme. de Brie cried out.

Mademoiselle waited an instant, with flashing eyes meeting madame's. She
had spoken hotly before, but now, in the face of the other's passion,
she held herself steady.

"Your charge is as false, madame, as your wish is cruel. Do you go to
vespers and come home to say such things? M. de Mar is no traitor; he
was never pledged to us, and may go over to Navarre when he will."

It was quietly spoken, but the blue lightning of her eyes was too much
for Mme. de Brie. She opened her mouth to retort, faltered, dropped her
eyes, and finally turned away, yet seething, to feign interest in the
trinkets. It was a rout.

"Then you are the traitor, Lorance," chimed the silvery tones of Mme. de
Montpensier. "It is not denied that M. de Mar has gone over to the
enemy; therefore are you the traitor to have intercourse with him."

She spoke without heat, without any appearance of ill feeling. Hers was
merely the desire, for the fun of it, to keep the flurry going. But
mademoiselle answered seriously, with the fleetingest glance at M. le
Comte, where he, forgetting he knew no French, feasted his eyes
recklessly on her, pitying, applauding, adoring her. I went softly
around the group to pull his sleeve; we were lost if any turned to see
him.

"Madame," mademoiselle addressed her cousin of Montpensier, speaking
particularly clearly and distinctly, "I mean ever to be loyal to my
house. I came here a penniless orphan to the