therto pampered heart.

I saw Castelroux that day, but I said no word to him of my affliction.
He brought me news of Chatellerault. The Count was lying in a dangerous
condition at the Auberge Royale, and might not be moved. The physician
attending him all but despaired of his life.

"He is asking to see you," said Castelroux.

But I was not minded to respond. For all that he had deeply wronged
me, for all that I despised him very cordially, the sight of him in his
present condition might arouse my pity, and I was in no mood to waste
upon such a one as Chatellerault even on his deathbed--a quality of
which I had so dire a need just then for my own case.

"I will not go," said I, after deliberation. "Tell him from me that I
forgive him freely if it be that he seeks my forgiveness; tell him that
I bear him no rancour, and--that he had better make his will, to save me
trouble hereafter, if he should chance to die."

I said this because I had no mind, if he should perish intestate, to go
in quest of his next heirs and advise them that my late Picardy estates
were now their property.

Castelroux sought yet to persuade me to visit the Count, but I held
firmly to my resolve.

"I am leaving Toulouse to-day," I announced.

"Whither do you go?"

"To hell, or to Beaugency--I scarce know which, nor does it matter."

He looked at me in surprise, but, being a man of breeding, asked no
questions upon matters that he accounted secret.

"But the King?" he ventured presently.

"His Majesty has already dispensed me from my duties by him."

Nevertheless, I did not go that day. I maintained the intention until
sunset; then, seeing that it was too late, I postponed my departure
until the morrow. I can assign no reason for my dallying mood. Perhaps
it sprang from the inertness that pervaded me, perhaps some mysterious
hand detained me. Be that as it may, that I remained another night at
the Hotel de l'Epee was one of those contingencies which, though slight
and seemingly inconsequential in themselves, lead to great issues. Had
I departed that day for Beaugency, it is likely that you had never heard
of me--leastways, not from my own pen--for in what so far I have told
you, without that which is to follow, there is haply little that was
worth the labour of setting down.

In the morning, then, I set out; but having started late, we got no
farther than Grenade, where we lay the night once more at the Hotel de
la Couronne. And so,