“I am afflicted to tell you such ill news, mademoiselle,” he said suavely, “but unhappily a complaint has been lodged against Madame de St. Cyr. She is accused of being a heretic, and of sheltering a heretic. A charge so serious must be investigated. Unfortunately,” he concluded with a shrug, “I have to do my duty.” “Your duty!” repeated Rosaline, with sparkling eyes. “Your duty, then, monsieur, is to drag a helpless old woman from the shelter of her home?” He bit his lip and a red spot showed in either cheek, but he controlled his own rising temper. “Assuredly, mademoiselle,” he replied, “if she is guilty of the detestable crime of heresy.” “And you will be guilty of the crime of murder, monsieur,” she retorted with a fierce indignation; for the moment, she was perfectly fearless. “Where is she? Where have you taken her?” she cried. He looked at the clock. “She must be in Nîmes now, mademoiselle,” he replied courteously; “she will be strictly confined there under guard until she has been interrogated by the authorities.” Rosaline uttered a low cry of despair. “_Mon Dieu!_” she said, “it will kill her; you know it will kill her!” He shrugged his shoulders. “I am not responsible,” he said; “I am a soldier, bound to execute the orders of my superiors. For her sake, for yours, mademoiselle, I have endeavored to alleviate the circumstances of her arrest, and ’tis possible that--that there might be a compromise.” He paused, looking at her with a strange expression. “What do you mean?” she demanded eagerly. M. de Baudri laid his hand on his heart. “It rests with you, mademoiselle,” he said with gallantry, “to determine madame’s fate. There is no doubt that she is a heretic, and you know the doom of heretics, but you may save her yet.” Rosaline drew her breath sharply; an intuition warned her of what was coming. She was white to the lips, but her blue eyes shone. “Your meaning, monsieur?” she said in a low voice. “I stand high in the favor of M. Montrevel,” he said placidly; “I am a good Catholic. It is possible for me to obtain many concessions, if I wish to do so. Mademoiselle understands me; it is necessary for me to help her, and my help can be obtained if Rosaline de St. Cyr desires it.” She stood looking at him in silence, and he became at last a little uneasy under that searching glance. “You know that I love you, mademoiselle,” he said; “if you consent now--this moment--to marry me, I will save madame.” He spoke with the air of one who contemplated a virtuous deed. “You wish me to marry you!” she exclaimed, her voice quivering with passion. “M. de Baudri, I too am a heretic.” She turned on him the same face that she had turned on the cobbler in the wood. “Why do you not give me up to the authorities, monsieur?” she went on defiantly; “you are a soldier, do your duty!”