gain his ends by sending a challenge to this boy. The lad was
high-spirited and consented to meet M. de Canaples, by whom he would
assuredly have been murdered--'t is the only word, Mademoiselle--had I
not intervened as I did."

She was silent for a moment. Then--"I believe you, Monsieur," she said
simply. "You fought, then, to shield another--but why?"

"For three reasons, Mademoiselle. Firstly, those persons high in power
chose to think it my fault that the quarrel had arisen, and threatened
to hang me if the duel took place and the boy were harmed. Secondly,
I myself felt a kindness for the boy. Thirdly, because, whatever sins
Heaven may record against me, it has at least ever been my way to side
against men who, confident of their superiority, seek, with the cowardly
courage of the strong, to harm the weak. It is, Mademoiselle, the
courage of the man who knows no fear when he strikes a woman, yet who
will shake with a palsy when another man but threatens him."

"Why did you not tell me all this before?" she whispered, after a pause.
And methought I caught a quaver in her voice.

I laughed for answer, and she read my laugh aright; presently she
pursued her questions and asked me the name of the boy I had defended.
But I evaded her, telling her that she must need no further details to
believe me.

"It is not that, Monsieur! I do believe you; I do indeed, but--"

"Hark, Mademoiselle!" I cried suddenly, as the clatter of many hoofs
sounded near at hand. "What is that?"

A shout rang out at that moment. "Halt! Who goes there?"

"Mon Dieu!" exclaimed Mademoiselle, drawing close up to me, and again
the voice sounded, this time more sinister.

"Halt, I say--in the King's name!"

The coach came to a standstill, and through the window I beheld the
shadowy forms of several mounted men, and the feeble glare of a lantern.

"Who travels in the carriage, knave?" came the voice again.

"Mademoiselle de Canaples," answered Michelot; then, like a fool, he
must needs add: "Have a care whom you knave, my master, if you would
grow old."

"Pardieu! let us behold this Mademoiselle de Canaples who owns so
fearful a warrior for a coachman."

The door was flung rudely open, and the man bearing the lantern--whose
rays shone upon a uniform of the Cardinal's guards--confronted us.

With a chuckle he flashed the light in my face, then suddenly grew
serious.

"Peste! Is it indeed you, M. de Luynes?" quoth he; adding, with ster