. And as on this Monday evening the prime virulence of the massacre
had begun to abate--though it held after a fashion to the end of the
week--Paris without was quiet also. The sounds which had chilled her
heart at intervals during two days were no longer heard. A feeling
almost of peace, almost of comfort--a drowsy feeling, that was three
parts a reaction from excitement--took possession of her. In the
darkness her head sank lower and lower on her knees. And half an hour
passed, while Javette whimpered, and Madame Carlat slumbered, her broad
back propped against the wall.

Suddenly Mademoiselle opened her eyes, and saw, three steps below her, a
strange man whose upward way she barred. Behind him came Carlat, and
behind him Bigot, lighting both; and in the confusion of her thoughts as
she rose to her feet the three, all staring at her in a common amazement,
seemed a company. The air entering through the open window beside her
blew the flame of the candle this way and that, and added to the
nightmare character of the scene; for by the shifting light the men
seemed to laugh one moment and scowl the next, and their shadows were now
high and now low on the wall. In truth, they were as much amazed at
coming on her in that place as she at their appearance; but they were
awake, and she newly roused from sleep; and the advantage was with them.

"What is it?" she cried in a panic. "What is it?"

"If Mademoiselle will return to her room?" one of the men said
courteously.

"But--what is it?" She was frightened.

"If Mademoiselle--"

Then she turned without more and went back into the room, and the three
followed, and her woman and Madame Carlat. She stood resting one hand on
the table while Javette with shaking fingers lighted the candles. Then--

"Now, Monsieur," she said in a hard voice, "if you will tell me your
business?"

"You do not know me?" The stranger's eyes dwelt kindly and pitifully on
her.

She looked at him steadily, crushing down the fears which knocked at her
heart.

"No," she said. "And yet I think I have seen you."

"You saw me a week last Sunday," the stranger answered sorrowfully. "My
name is La Tribe. I preached that day, Mademoiselle, before the King of
Navarre. I believe that you were there."

For a moment she stared at him in silence, her lips parted. Then she
laughed, a laugh which set the teeth on edge.

"Oh, he is clever!" she cried. "He has the wit of the priests! Or