morrow!"

"Scelerat!" he cried. "You have ruined me!" Rage and grief were blent in
his accents. He stood before me, livid of face and with hands clenching
and unclenching at his sides.

"Did you expect me to keep such a matter silent? Even had I been so
inclined it had not been easy, for His Majesty had questions to ask
me. From what the King said, monsieur, you may count upon mounting the
scaffold in my stead. So be advised, and make your will without delay,
if you would have your heirs enjoy my Picardy chateau."

I have seen terror and anger distort men's countenances, but never
have I seen aught to compare with the disorder of Chatellerault at
that moment. He stamped and raved and fumed. He poured forth a
thousand ordures of speech in his frenzy; he heaped insults upon me and
imprecations upon the King, whose lapdog he pronounced me. His short,
stout frame was quivering with passion and fear, his broad face
distorted by his hideous grimaces of rage. And then, while yet his
ravings were in full flow, the door opened, and in stepped the airy
Chevalier de Saint-Eustache.

He stood still, amazed, beneath the lintel--marvelling to see all this
anger, and abashed at beholding me. His sudden appearance reminded me
that I had last seen him at Grenade in the Count's company, on the day
of my arrest. The surprise it had occasioned me now returned upon seeing
him so obviously and intimately seeking Chatellerault.

The Count turned on him in his anger.

"Well, popinjay?" he roared. "What do you want with me?"

"Monsieur le Comte!" cried the other, in blent indignation and reproach.

"You will perceive that you are come inopportunely," I put in. "Monsieur
de Chatellerault is not quite himself."

But my speech again drew his attention to my presence; and the wonder
grew in his eyes at finding me there, for to him I was still Lesperon
the rebel, and he marvelled naturally that I should be at large.

Then in the corridor there was a sound of steps and voices, and as I
turned I beheld in the doorway, behind Saint-Eustache, the faces
of Castelroux, Mironsac, and my old acquaintance, the babbling,
irresponsible buffoon, La Fosse. From Mironsac he had heard of my
presence in Toulouse, and, piloted by Castelroux, they were both come to
seek me out. I'll swear it was not thus they had looked to find me.

They pushed their way into the room, impelling Saint-Eustache
forward, and there were greetings exchanged and felicitations,