"Why, from across the hall, behind the chair there," I answered. "I've been there a long while back. His Grace told me to wait in the hall, and in the hall I waited, though the Duke, having other things to think of, forgot both his order and his servant." "Then you heard?" she asked in a whisper. "All, I think, that the Duke said. Lord Carford said nothing. I was about to interrupt his Grace when the task was better performed for me. I think, madame, you owe some thanks to M. de Perrencourt." "You heard what he said?" "The last few words only," I answered regretfully. She looked at me for an instant, and then said with a dreary little smile, "I'm to be grateful to M. de Perrencourt?" "I know no other man who could or would have rid you of the Duke so finely. Besides, he appeared to treat you with much courtesy." "Courtesy, yes!" she cried, but seemed to check herself. She was still in great agitation, and a moment later she covered her face and I heard her sob again. "Come, take heart," said I. "The Duke's a great man, of course; but no harm shall come to you, Mistress Barbara. Your father bade me have my services in readiness for you, and although I didn't need his order as a spur, I may pray leave to use it as an excuse for thrusting myself on you." "Indeed I--I'm glad to see you, Simon. But what shall I do? Ah, Heaven, why did I ever come to this place?" "That can be mended by leaving it, madame." "But how? How can I leave it?" she asked despairingly. "The Duchess will grant you leave." "Without the King's consent?" "But won't the King consent? Madame will ask for you; she's kind." "Madame won't ask for me; nobody will ask for me." "Then if leave be impossible, we must go without leave, if you speak the word." "Ah, you don't know," she said sadly. Then she caught my hand again and whispered hurriedly and fearfully: "I'm afraid, Simon. I--I fear him. What can I do? How can I resist? They can do what they will with me, what can I do? If I weep, they laugh; if I try to laugh, they take it for consent. What can I do?" There is nothing that so binds a man to a woman as to feel her hand seeking his in weakness and appeal. I had thought that one day so Barbara's might seek mine and I should exult in it, nay, might even let her perceive my triumph. The thing I had dreamed of was come, but where was my exultation? There was a choking in my throat and I swallowed twice before I contrived to answer: "What can we do, you mean, Mistress Barbara." "Alas, alas," she cried, between tears and laughter, "what can we--even we--do, Simon?" I noticed that she called me Simon, as in the old days before my apostacy and great offence. I was glad of it, for if I was to be of service to her we must be friends. Suddenly she said, "You know what it means--I can't tell you; you know?" "Aye, I know," said I, "none better. But the Duke shan't have his way."