"So," he said, crossing his legs and leaning his elbow against the table, so that his eyes were bent nearly opposite to hers. "Beyond our expectations? That is well. And so the poor fool, Yvon de Mereac, loves you?" "As warmly as his sister hates me." "Equally to their own destruction." She laughed a trifle uneasily. "The idea causes you amusement?" His tone was not pleasant. "Amusement," she said vaguely. Then, changing her tone, "Is it after all so necessary?" "Altogether necessary. Remember your oath." She changed colour, but clung to her point. "Nay, but seeing—seeing he loves me?" "Scarcely with such devotion that he would give up his inheritance to the brother of his adored." She winced under the sneer. "But will nothing else content you, mon frère? If I were his wife, I—I would arrange matters altogether to your will. You shall be lord in all but name. Consider, he is, after all, but a poor, weak fool, who will ever do my bidding." Her words were rapid, and rang with a note of pleading, but Guillaume de Coray only frowned. "It is necessary that he shall be altogether removed, or, if plain speaking be necessary, he must die. The means are already in our hands." She shuddered involuntarily. "Bah!" he said lightly. "Thou surely dost not love this weakling lover of thine, Diane? Grieve not for him, ma chère; the new Sieur de Mereac will wed thee to a nobler suitor when he comes to his own." "I cannot do it," she moaned. "Nay, brother, I sicken at the very thought. ’Tis not in truth that I love him, but—but——" "A foolish fancy," quoth her brother mockingly. "Nay, Diane, thou art not wont to blanch so easily, and bethink thee of thy sweet revenge on yon proud and scornful maid." Her hazel eyes grew hard. "Yes," she said, "I hate her; yes, hate her with all my soul, for she scorns me, Guillaume, and flouts me too, for all her brother’s anger. Ay, revenge is sweet, and yet——" "Courage," mocked Guillaume, leaning closer to her across the table—"courage, little sister. After all——" He paused, watching her eyes dilate with sudden dread as she filled in the unspoken words. "No," she cried at length, and her voice rose in a quick, decisive tone, "I cannot do it, Guillaume; sooner than be thy tool in this work I will—I will——" "Die thyself belike," he said coolly, his eyes never leaving her changing face. "Think well, Diane, yes, very well, before thou breakest thine oath—remember the fate that awaits thee, did I so much as breathe one word concerning thy dealings in matters which have brought many a fairer maid than thee to the stake, or the torture chamber. Did I proclaim thee witch, what arm, even of love itself, would be strong enough in Brittany, ay, and in all France, to save thee?" "I am no witch," she cried passionately, "as thou knowest well, liar and coward that thou art."