'Enough, my lord; I thank you. The Chevalier Lafin has laid before you in detail all our resources. Let me now show you this.' He unrolled a parchment that was before him, and handed it to the Marshal. 'Here,' he added, 'are the signatures of all. It only needs that of Biron; now sign.' I could hear the beating of my heart in the silence that followed, and then Biron said hoarsely, 'No! no! I will never put my name to paper.' '_Morbleu!_ Marshal,' burst out Lafin, 'This is no time for nibbling at a cherry. Tremouille and Epernon have signed. Put your seal to the scroll, and the day it reaches M. de Savoye, thirty thousand troops are across the frontier, and you will change the cabbage gardens of Biron for the coronet of Burgundy and La Breese.' 'And see your head on a crown piece, Marshal,' added de Gomeron. 'But we have not heard, Lafin--' began the Marshal. 'We will hear to-night, monseigneur--that horn meant news, and Zamet never fails. Curse the low-bred Italian! _Pardieu!_ he is here,' and as he spoke, I heard what seemed to be three distinct knocks at a carved door, and, Lafin opening it, a man booted and spurred entered the room. He was splashed with mud as one who had ridden fast and far. 'Zamet!' exclaimed the Marshal and de Gomeron, both rising, and the face of the former was pale as death. 'Good evening, gentlemen! _Maledetto!_ But I have had a devil of a ride, and some fool kept winding a will-o'-the-wisp kind of horn that led me a fine dance. It was lucky I met your men.' 'Then that blast we heard was not yours?' '_Corpo di Bacco!_ No, Chevalier.' I was a glad man to think that Nicholas, who was crouching at my feet, did not hear this, or there might have been a catastrophe, but that indeed was not long delayed. 'Well, friends, you all seem to have pale faces--would you not like to hear the news? I have ridden post to tell you.' There was no answer, and the Italian continued: 'I suppose I must give it, make your minds easy. It is all over--she died last night. We are free at any rate from the enmity of Gabrielle--she knew too much.' 'Did it hurt her?' asked Biron nervously. 'I don't know,' answered Zamet brutally, 'I have never tasted the Borgia citron myself.'