'_Mon Dieu!_' exclaimed the Marshal, springing to his feet, 'this is too terrible,' and he began to pace up and down, whilst the other three remained in whispered converse, their eyes now and again turning to Biron, who walked the room like a caged beast. Nicholas had risen slowly to his feet despite my orders, and was looking over my shoulders with a white face and blazing eyes. I dared not tell him to go back; but, with a warning look at him, strained my ears to catch what was being said, but could hear nothing, until at length Zamet raised his voice: 'Have done with it, Marshal, and sign. After all, Madame de Beaufort was no more than a----,' and he used a foul word. 'The King is prostrate now; but in a week Gabrielle will be forgotten, and then anything might happen. He is beginning to recover. He already writes verses on the lost one,' he went on with a grin, '_charmante_ Gabrielle--_diavolo!_ but you should have seen her as she lay dead--she was green as a jade cup.' 'Be still, dog,' and Biron turned fiercely on him. The Italian stepped back, his hand on his dagger; but in a moment he recovered himself. His black eyebrows lifted, and his upper lip drew back over his teeth in a sneer. 'I did not know Monseigneur would be so affected; but time presses and we need the name of Biron to that scroll. Hand the Marshal the pen, Lafin.' 'It is here,' and de Gomeron, dipping a pen in a silver ink-stand, held it out in his hand. Biron made a half step forward to take it, when a thing happened. I felt myself suddenly thrust aside, and there was a blinding flash, a loud report, and a shout from Nicholas, 'Missed, by God!' There was absolutely no time to do anything but make for the horses. Nicholas had fired at de Gomeron in his mad thirst for revenge, and had practically given our lives away. In the uproar and din that followed we slid down the sash like apes, and dashed towards the horses. Some one shouted 'Traitor--traitor,' and let fly at us twice as we ran across the open space. From the courtyard we could hear the hurry and bustle of men suddenly aroused, and as we reached the oak we heard the bay of the bloodhounds, and the thunder of hoofs in pursuit. CHAPTER VII POOR NICHOLAS! From the oak to the spot where our horses were tethered was close upon fifty paces, and never, I think, was ground covered at a speedier rate by men running for their lives. I was bursting with anger, and know not what restrained me from pistolling Nicholas, so furious was I at the blind folly of the man. As we reached the horses, we could hear the dogs splashing through the spill-water at the edge of the lake, and someone fired a third shot at us from horseback--a shot in the dark which whistled through the branches overhead. 'Quick! quick, monsieur! 'gasped Nicholas, and with a turn of his hand he freed Couronne, and sprang to her back--the great mare standing steady as a rock.