nestly by his unbound tongue."

"Ah, my son! Now that you mention him, we shall discuss him a little.
You have put my son, monsieur, in the Bastille."

"No; Belin and my nephew Paul, whom you know, have put him there."

"But M. de Mayenne can get him out if he choose."

"If he choose."

Monsieur sat down again, with the air of one preparing for an amiable
discussion.

"He is charged with the murder of one Pontou, a lackey. Of course he did
not commit it, nor would you care if he had. His real offence is making
love to your ward."

"Well, do you deny it?"

"Not the love, but the offence of it. Palpably you might do much worse
than dispose of the lady to my heir."

"I might do much better than bestow my time on you if that is all you
have to say."

"We have hardly opened the subject, M. de Mayenne--"

"I have no wish to carry it further."

"Monsieur, the king's ranks afford no better match than my heir."

"No maid of mine shall ever marry a Royalist."

"I swore no son of mine should ever marry a Leaguer, but I have come to
see the error of my ways, as you will see yours, Mayenne. It is for you
to choose where among the king's forces you will marry mademoiselle."

A vague uneasiness, a fear which he would not own a fear, crept into
Mayenne's eyes. He studied the face before him, a face of gay challenge,
and said, at length, not quite confidently himself:

"You speak with a confidence, St. Quentin."

"Why, to be sure."

Mayenne jumped heavily to his feet.

"What mean you?"

"I mean that mademoiselle's marrying is in my hands. Where is your ward,
M. de Mayenne?"

"Mordieu! Have you found her?"

"You speak sooth."

"In your hotel--"

"No, eager kinsman. In a place whither you cannot follow her."

Mayenne looked about, as if with some instinctive idea of seeking a
weapon, of summoning his soldiers.

"By God's throne, you shall tell me where!"

"With pleasure. She is at St. Denis."

Mayenne cried helplessly, as numbed under a blow:

"St. Denis! But how--"

"How came she there? On foot, every step. I suppose she never walked
two streets in her life before, has she, M. de Mayenne? But she tramped
to St. Denis through the dark, to knock at my door at one in the
morning."

Mayenne seized Monsieur's wrist.

"She is safe, St. Quentin? She is safe?"

"As safe, monsieur, as the king's protection can make her."

"Pardieu! Is she with the king?"

"She is at my lodgings, in the care of the s