ins, on the site of an old fortification given
by Charles VII. to that faithful servant as a reward for his glorious
labors.

The count reached at last the rue du Murier, in which his dwelling,
called the hotel de Poitiers, was situated. When his escort of servants
had entered the courtyard and the heavy gates were closed, a deep
silence fell on the narrow street, where other great seigneurs had their
houses, for this new quarter of the town was near to Plessis, the usual
residence of the king, to whom the courtiers, if sent for, could go in a
moment. The last house in this street was also the last in the town. It
belonged to Maitre Cornelius Hoogworst, an old Brabantian merchant,
to whom King Louis XI. gave his utmost confidence in those financial
transactions which his crafty policy induced him to undertake outside of
his own kingdom.

Observing the outline of the houses occupied respectively by Maitre
Cornelius and by the Comte de Poitiers, it was easy to believe that
the same architect had built them both and destined them for the use of
tyrants. Each was sinister in aspect, resembling a small fortress, and
both could be well defended against an angry populace. Their corners
were upheld by towers like those which lovers of antiquities remark
in towns where the hammer of the iconoclast has not yet prevailed. The
bays, which had little depth, gave a great power of resistance to the
iron shutters of the windows and doors. The riots and the civil wars so
frequent in those tumultuous times were ample justification for these
precautions.

As six o'clock was striking from the great tower of the Abbey
Saint-Martin, the lover of the hapless countess passed in front of the
hotel de Poitiers and paused for a moment to listen to the sounds
made in the lower hall by the servants of the count, who were supping.
Casting a glance at the window of the room where he supposed his love to
be, he continued his way to the adjoining house. All along his way, the
young man had heard the joyous uproar of many feasts given throughout
the town in honor of the day. The ill-joined shutters sent out streaks
of light, the chimneys smoked, and the comforting odor of roasted meats
pervaded the town. After the conclusion of the church services, the
inhabitants were regaling themselves, with murmurs of satisfaction which
fancy can picture better than words can paint. But at this particular
spot a deep silence reigned, because in these two houses l