abruptly, like one who is tired and desires no more than to
sleep.

Gilles de Retz drew a long sigh of relief.

"All is hid," he said; "these things are less than nothing. What does
the Duke?"

"I cannot look again, I am weary," she said.

"Look again!" thundered her taskmaster.

"I see the fair-haired man take the parchment from the hand of the
dark, stern man--"

"With whom I will reckon!"

"He tries to tear it in two, but cannot. He throws it angrily in the
fire."

"My enemies are destroyed," said Gilles de Retz, "I thank thee, great
Barran-Sathanas. Thou hast indeed done that which thou didst promise.
Henceforth I am thy servant and thy slave."

So saying, he took a glass of water from the table and dashed it on
the face of the Lady Sybilla.

"Awake," he said, "you have done well. Go now and repose that you may
again be ready when I have need of you."

A flicker of conscious life appeared under the purple-veined eyelids
of the Lady Sybilla. Her long, dark lashes quivered, tried to rise,
and again lay still.

The marshal took the illuminated copy of the Evangelists from the
table and fanned her with the thin parchment leaves.

"Awake!" he cried harshly and sternly.

The eyes of the girl slowly opened their pupils dark and dilated. She
carried her hand to her head, but wearily, as if even that slight
movement pained her. The golden cross swung unseen under the silken
folds of her apron.

"I am so tired--so tired," the girl murmured to herself as Gilles de
Retz assisted her to rise. Then hastily handing her over to Poitou, he
bade him conduct her to her own chamber.

But as she went through the door of the marshal's laboratory she
looked upon the floor and smiled almost joyously.

"His devil has indeed departed from him," she murmured to herself. "I
thank the God of Righteousness who this night hath enabled me to
baffle him with a woman's poor wit, and to lie to him that he may be
led quick to destruction, and fall himself into the pit which he hath
prepared for the feet of the innocent."

CHAPTER LV

THE RED MILK

Darkly and swiftly the autumn night descended upon Machecoul. In the
streets of the little feudal bourg there were few passers-by, and such
as there were clutched their cloaks tighter round them and scurried
on. Or if they raised their heads, it was only to take a hasty,
fearful glance at the vast bulk of the castle looming imminent above
them.

From a window high in t