'Harkee Blane,' he whispered, hurriedly as he passed us; 'you are in a fair way to fortune; but as a brother Scot and friend of my kinsman, I may warn you that you stand upon a precipice. Already she deems you one of her lovers, and as such will consider nothing too good for you for a time; but BE WARY! This chamber has occasionally led to the Bastille or to the more dreadful oubliettes of the Louvre. Farewell,' he added, raising his voice; 'the price of a horse is about six hundred crowns--but our Marechal de Logis will arrange everything for you. His apartments are at the Louvre, where he occupies the very shrine of love and beauty.' 'How, Marquis?' asked madame. 'He has the apartments of the beautiful Diana de Poictiers--the Duchess de Valentinois--whose spirit is said to haunt them.' He retired, and left me standing midway between the arras and the chair of the Countess, irresolute, dreading what was to follow, yet unwilling to retire, and confounded by the mysterious tenor of his emphatic whisper, which at that moment I could scarcely analyse. CHAPTER VI. MADAME OPENS THE TRENCHES. And for a minute I continued to loiter between the doorway over which the gorgeous hangings of blue and silver had fallen, and the chair in which sat the beautiful friend of king Louis, playing coquettishly with her fan of feathers. Happily for me, I lived in a time, and had before me a career, wherein every brave and handsome fellow could attain fortune and distinction, if he made the essay with a tolerably plausible tongue and a sharp rapier--the tongue for the ladies; the rapier for the foes of the standard he fought under. Yet, while conscious of this, I stood irresolutely, playing with the somewhat worn feather that drooped from my beaver hat--I was now entirely alone with this brilliant, self-possessed and confident favourite of the king. 'M. Arthur, come hither,' said she. I bowed. 'Are you afraid that I shall eat you?' I bowed again, and approached her chair. 'Have you nothing to say to me?' she asked, turning her eyes full upon me. 'Ah, madame, what shall I say--how express myself!' 'You know how much I have to forgive you.' 'Do not speak of it, madame. Your brother's narrow escape from a death at my hand, makes me tremble, when I think of it!' 'We will talk of that another time. Mademoiselle Nicola has told me how much he and his debauched companion were to blame in molesting her.' 'True, Countess.' 'But they knew not who she was.' 'How, madame? 'That she was my attendant and not a grisette,' said the Countess hastily. 'You have heard all that M. le Marquis has so kindly promised.' 'Oh yes, yes; more than I deserve, be assured.' 'What, are you so very wicked?' 'I trust not; yet I dare not express all I feel.' 'Am I then so terrible, or have you lost your tongue or your wits?' she asked with a waggish smile in her beautiful and half-closed eyes, as she leant back in the soft fautueil.