He extended his hand to bid goodnight. “Oh, I am going with you,” said the swordsman, and as he caught Rodvard’s glance of aversion. “I cannot bear to be without your company.” His face went sober as he quick-stepped beside Rodvard’s dragging feet up the entrance-walk. “This is Mathurin’s arrangement, also, in case it troubles you. Did you not notice those two men who followed us from the court at half a square’s distance? There will be another outside tonight. People’s guards.” (A tremor of peril.) “But I have—” “Done nothing but your duty to the nation. True; and for that reason precisely it is needful to guard you like an egg sought after by weasels. Do you think that the fact you bear a Blue Star is a secret? There are not a few persons who may be brought before the court that would rather conceal an assassination than what they have in their minds. You and I may have a fight on our hands.” His face lighted with pleasure at the prospect. II They paced slowly through the dead garden, along a walk so narrow that shoulders sometimes touched. Lalette could hear the tiny tinkle of the chain that bound Slair’s sword to his hip when that touch came; she knew he was stirred, and the rousing of emotion was not unpleasant to her. Beyond the slate roofs of the town the sun was sinking redly through striations of cloud; all things lay in a peace that was the peace of the end of the world. He turned his head. “Demoiselle,” he said, “what will you give for news?” “Oh, hush,” said she. “You spoil it. For a moment I was immortal.” “I ask your grace. But truly I have news for you, and it should please you.” “Sit here and tell me.” She took her place on a marble bench beneath the skeleton of an espaliered peach against the wall. “You will not have to use your Art against the arch-priest Groadon. Does that not please you?” “More than you know. What is the reason?” “He has fled; slipped through the watch set on his palace and gone—whether to hell, the court or Tritulacca, no one knows.” “I am glad.” She looked straight before her for a moment. “Ah, if things were better ordered.” “You are not as pleased as you might be.” “Oh, I am. But Rodvard—” “What has he done? I’ll—” “Oh, it’s no fault of his. You will tell no one?” She laid a cold hand on his warm one. “He has found who the heiress of Tuolén is, but does not know whether to tell Mathurin or not.” “Who is she?” “A child, thirteen years old. She lives at Dyolana, up in Oltrug seignory. But I do not know how long Rodvard will keep the secret. He feels a sense of duty.” “Why should he not? What withholds him from telling?” “I would have to teach her the patterns and everything. I do not wish it.” She shivered slightly. “And to be a witch—”