fusillade of jeers from soldiers, grooms, and
house-men, across the court, through the hall, and up the stairs to
Marcel's chamber. Never was I gladder of anything in my life than to
doff those swaddling petticoats. Two minutes, and I was a man again. I
found it in my heart to pity the poor things who must wear the trappings
their lives long.

But for all my joy in my freedom, I choked over my supper and pushed it
away half tasted, in misery over M. Etienne. Vigo might say comfortably
that Mayenne dared not kill him, but I thought there were few things
that gentleman dared not do. Then there was Lucas to be reckoned with.
He had caught his fly in the web; he was not likely to let him go long
undevoured. At best, if M. Etienne's life were safe, yet was he
helpless, while to-morrow our mademoiselle was to marry. Vigo seemed to
think that a blessing, but I was nigh to weeping into my soup. The one
ray of light was that she was not to marry Lucas. That was something.
Still, when M. Etienne came out of prison, if ever he did,--I could
scarce bring myself to believe it,--he would find his dear vanished over
the rocky Pyrenees.

Vigo would not even let me start when I was ready. Since we were too
late to find the gates open, we must wait till ten of the clock, at
which hour the St. Denis gate would be in the hands of a certain
Brissac, who would pass us with a wink at the word St. Quentin.

I was so wroth with Vigo that I would not stay with him, but went
up-stairs into M. Etienne's silent chamber, and flung myself down on the
window-bench his head might never touch again, and wondered how he was
faring in prison. I wished I were there with him. I cared not much what
the place was, so long as we were together. I had gone down the mouth of
hell smiling, so be it I went at his heels. Mayhap if I had struggled
harder with my captors, shown my sex earlier, they had taken me too.
Heartily I wished they had; I trow I am the only wight ever did wish
himself behind bars. And promptly I repented me, for if Vigo had proved
but a broken reed, there was Monsieur. Monsieur was not likely to sit
smug and declare prison the best place for his son.

The slow twilight faded altogether, and the dark came. The city was very
still. Once in a while a shout or a sound of bell was borne over the
roofs, or infrequent voices and footsteps sounded in the street beyond
our gate. The men in the court under my window were quiet too, talking
among the