"The devil! Won't the Queen-mother give thanks! And won't the Duke of Guise be angry!" "M. de Noyard is not dead yet. His wound may not be fatal." I led the way into the house and up the steps to the apartment. It was now lighted up by the torch which Jacques had brought. De Noyard was still lying in the position in which he had been when I left him. The servant stood beside him, looking down at his face, and holding the torch so as to light up the features. "How do you feel now, monsieur?" I asked, hastening forward. There was no answer. The servant raised his eyes to me, and said, in a tone of unnatural calmness, "Do you not see that he is dead, M. de la Tournoire?" Horror-stricken, I knelt beside the body. The heart no longer beat; the face was still,--the eyes stared between unquivering lids, in the light of the torch. "Oh, my God! I have killed him!" I murmured. "Come away. You can do nothing here," said De Rilly, quietly. He caught me by the shoulder, and led me out of the room. "Let us leave this neighborhood as soon as possible," he said, as we descended the stairs. "It is most unfortunate that the valet knows your name. He heard me speak it at the tavern, and he will certainly recall also that I hailed you as one of the French Guards." "Why is that unfortunate?" I asked, still deprived of thought by the horror of having killed so honorable a gentleman, who had not harmed me. "Because he can let the Duke of Guise know exactly on whom to seek vengeance for the death of De Noyard." "The Duke of Guise will seek vengeance?" I asked, mechanically, as we emerged from that fatal house, and turned our backs upon it. "Assuredly. He will demand your immediate punishment. You must bespeak the King's pardon as soon as possible. That is necessary, to protect oneself, when one has killed one's antagonist in a duel. The edicts still forbid duels, and one may be made to pay for a victory with one's life, if the victim's friends demand the enforcement of the law,--as in this case the Duke of Guise surely will demand." "M. de Quelus can, doubtless, get me the King's pardon," I said, turning my mind from the past to the future, from regret to apprehension. The necessity of considering my situation prevented me from contemplating, at that time, the perfidy of Mlle. d'Arency, the blindness with which I had let myself be deceived, or the tragic and humiliating termination of my great love affair. "If M. de Quelus is with you, you are safe from the authorities. You will then have only to guard against assassination at the hands of Guise's followers." "I shall go to M. de Quelus early in the morning," I said.