ppear were thrown aside, and Diana herself
rushed into the supper-room, and seized hold of Remy, who, standing
motionless and erect, seemed only to be waiting her return.

"Quick! quick!" she said to him; "all is finished."

And they both darted into the garden as if they had been drunk, or mad,
or raging with passion.

No sooner did Henri observe them, however, than he seemed to have
recovered all his strength; he hastened to place himself in their way,
and they came upon him suddenly in the middle of the path, standing
erect, his arms crossed, and more terrible in his silence than any one
could ever have been in his loudest menaces. Henri's feelings had
indeed arrived at such a pitch of exasperation, that he would readily
have slain any man who would have ventured to maintain that women were
not monsters sent from hell to corrupt the world. He seized Diana by the
arm, and stopped her suddenly, notwithstanding the cry of terror which
she uttered, and notwithstanding the dagger which Remy put to his
breast, and which even grazed his flesh.

"Oh! doubtless you do not recognize me," he said furiously, gnashing his
teeth; "I am that simple-hearted young man who loved you, and whose love
you would not return, because for you there was no future, but merely
the past. Ah! beautiful hypocrite that you are, and you, foul liar, I
know you at last--I know and curse you. To the one I say, I despise and
contemn you: to the other, I shrink from you with horror."

"Make way!" cried Remy, in a strangled voice; "make way, young fool, or
if not--"

"Be it so," replied Henri; "finish your work, and slay my body, wretch,
since you have already destroyed my soul."

"Silence!" muttered Remy, furiously, pressing the blade of his dagger
more and more against Henri's breast.

Diana, however, violently pushed Remy aside, and seizing Du Bouchage by
the arm, she drew him straight before her. She was lividly pale; her
beautiful hair streamed over her shoulders; the contact of the hand on
Henri's wrist seemed to the latter cold and damp as the dews of death.

"Monsieur," she said, "do not rashly judge of matters of which Heaven
alone can judge. I am Diana de Meridor, the mistress of Monsieur de
Bussy, whom the Duc d'Anjou miserably allowed to perish when he could
have saved him. Eight days since Remy slew Aurilly, the duke's
accomplice, and the prince himself I have just poisoned with a peach, a
bouquet, and a torch. Move aside, monsieur-