So far I read, and then flung the book with its fulsome verses down on the cushions. As I did this, I heard a little burst of laughter, followed by the harsh, chuckling scream of a parrot, and then a voice: "Here! Vert-Vert! Here! To my shoulder!" I stepped back behind a pillar, the curtains covering a door leading into an inner apartment were set aside, and La Valentinois entered, bearing on her left shoulder a large green parrot, whose plumage she caressed with her right hand. She was clad in a loose robe of some soft, clinging material that shimmered like cloth of gold. It was fastened at her throat by a jewelled star, and a golden zone clasped her waist. Her abundant hair hung loose in black, curling masses, and her little feet were thrust into gemmed and embroidered slippers. Madame had apparently come forth in some haste I could see. "Orrain," she said, her face half turned from me, for she was looking at her bird, "whatever brings you here? Is it anything from Sire Grosse-Tete?" And then an exclamation broke from her, and she stopped short, for she saw me. "You!" she said. "I thought it was the Vidame d'Orrain." "A mistake, madame, in announcing me, perhaps, which I regard as the most fortunate in my life." And I bowed before her. So bad, so worthless was this woman, that she utterly mistook my speech. "True! Leila said Monsieur d'Orrain--but I thought it was your brother." I made no answer, and she glanced at me, the colour rising to her cheeks, and a smile on her lips, as she went on: "'Tis a thousand pities, Monsieur le Chevalier, that you have taken the wrong side; and by rights I should strike that gong there and call my guards, for you are dangerous, they say; but," and she sank languorously down in the cushions, her pet now on her wrist, "'tis a warm day, and I feel bored. Do I not, Vert-Vert? Perhaps monsieur here will amuse me." And she stroked the feathers of the bird, and bending down kissed it. "Madame," I began; but she glanced up, and stayed me with a laugh. "What a voice! As severe as my dear De Mouchy's when he delivers a judgment; but, Chevalier, Leila, my Syrian maid, always tells me 'tis easier to sit than to stand, and there is room on these cushions--come!" And stretching out a shapely white arm she let it rest on the amber-hued silk of the cushions by her side. As I gazed on the temptress lying at my feet the thought came to me to slay her in her sin; and perhaps she saw the sombre light in my eyes, and read my heart, for she drew her arm back swiftly, and half rose; but mastering myself I gave her her chance. "Madame, I have come to beg your mercy----" "You!" And she sank back again on her cushions. "Yes, madame! I have come to ask for a life." "Not yours, surely? It never was Orrain's way." And she smiled. "Ay; it is my life ten times over, as well as another's; but you know whom I mean, madame! She is innocent, and a word from you will save her."