“Long! Since the day she came last spring from the Sacred Heart at Toulouse, where the good sisters were caring for her. He had no sooner set eyes on her than he was mad for her. At first we all thought we should have a new Duchesse within a month, for M. le Duc is not the man for a girl just out of a convent to resist; but some one whispered into her ear the story of the first Duchesse, and perhaps some other tales besides. What would not M. le Duc do to the tale-bearer could he discover him! The first Duchesse is dead--dead,” and he laughed a mocking laugh. “There was a story! She was found one morning at the cliff-foot here, broken to pieces! She had flung herself over, perhaps. There were those who said that M. le Duc had wearied of her, as he will weary of this one--that the fall was not wholly an accident. However that may have been, the girl refused to look at him after she had heard the story. She was just from the convent, you see--her conscience was yet warm. M. le Duc swore he would have her. Her indifference only inflamed him the more. Really, before this, I thought he would use the strong arm.” “But her uncle,” I questioned. “What of him?” “Brissac? Pouf!” and Drouet grimaced contemptuously. “A man of water fit only for intrigue, where one talks in parables. He fears M. le Duc as he fears the devil; and he also fears this girl, who has a will of her own, despite her baby face. So he stepped discreetly to one side and permitted them to fight it out. Well, M. le Duc will have his hands full. I do not envy him. I prefer a wench whom I need not fear will stab me while I sleep.” “Yes,” I assented. My hands were trembling as I realized that the moment had arrived. I marked how his poniard hung--there would be need of quickness, for he was a great, heavy fellow, much stronger, doubtless, than I. “I must go,” he said at last. “I will drink your health at the wedding.” He got slowly to his feet and stepped towards the door. As he passed me, I strained forward, plucked out his poniard and drove it deep into his thigh. I might have struck higher, but at the last instant my heart failed me. I saw his startled eyes staring down at me, then he fell with a crash. “Help!” he yelled. “This way!” But I was upon him, the poniard at his throat. “Drouet,” I said between my teeth, “I spared you an instant since--I might easily have killed you. I swear I will kill you yet if you utter another sound.” He chuckled grimly as he looked towards the door. “Many thanks, M. de Marsan,” he said, “but I think I have already uttered enough to spoil your game.” For an instant I found myself looking over my shoulder with anxious eyes--then I remembered. “There is no one there, Drouet,” I said triumphantly, rejoiced that it was my turn. “The sentry has been attended to.” “Attended to!” he muttered, and looked again towards the door and then at me with distended eyes. “It is a plot, then!”