se never to hold
intercourse with M. de Mar again, I had given my word to be true to my
house. M. de Mar came by no will of mine. I had no inkling of such
purpose till I beheld him before madame and her ladies. He came to
entreat me to fly--to wed him. I denied him, Sire. I sent him away. But
was I to say to the guard, 'This way, gentlemen. This is my lover'?"

"Mademoiselle," the king exclaimed, "good hap that you have turned your
back on the house of Lorraine. Here, if we are but rough soldiers, we
know how to tender you."

"It was not for myself I came," she said more quietly. "My lord had the
right to chasten me. I am his ward, and I did deceive him. But while he
foamed at me came word of M. de Mar's capture. Then Mayenne swore he
should pay for this dear. He said he should be found guilty of the
murder. He said plenty of witnesses would swear to it. He said M. de Mar
should be tortured to make him confess."

With an oath Monsieur sprang forward.

"Aye," she cried, starting up, "he swore M. de Mar should suffer the
preparatory and the previous, the estrapade and the brodekins!"

"He dare not," the king shouted. "Mordieu, he dare not!"

"Sire," she cried, "you can promise him that for every blow he strikes
Etienne de Mar you will strike me two. Mar is in his hands, but I am in
yours. For M. de Mar, unhurt, you will deliver him me, unhurt. If he
torture Mar, you will torture me."

"Mademoiselle," the king cried, "rather shall he torture every chevalier
in France than I touch a hair of your head!"

"Sire--" the word died away in a sigh; like a snapt rose she fell at his
feet.

The king was quick, but Monsieur quicker. On his knees beside her,
raising her head on his arm, he commanded me:

"Up-stairs, Felix! The door at the back--bid Dame Verney come
instantly."

I flew, and was back to find him risen, holding mademoiselle in his
arms. Her hair lay loose over his shoulder like a rippling flag; her
lashes clung to her cheeks as they would never lift more.

"St. Quentin," his Majesty was saying, "I would have married her to a
prince. But since she wants your son she shall have him,
ventre-saint-gris, if I storm Paris to-morrow!" And as Monsieur was
carrying her from the room, the king bent over and kissed her.

"Mademoiselle has dropped a packet from her dress," M. de Rosny said.
"Will you take it, St. Quentin?"

The king, who was nearest, turned to pass it to him; at the sight of it
he uttered his dear