"Raoul de Clermont, I believed you once to be a man of honour. Let me think so again; give me the chance. Be merciful for once. Save my husband as you say you can. See, it is a wife who pleads. Man! There must be some spark of knighthood in you to fire your soul! You are brave, I know. Can you not be generous and pitiful? You have tried to kill my soul. Monsieur, I will forget that--I will forget the past, and thank you forever if you do this. Save him, for I love him!" "Love him!" "Yes, love him as he deserves to be loved, and by a better woman. De Clermont, be true to yourself." His breath came thick and fast, and then he spoke with an effort: "You ask too much, Denise. I have offered you my terms. I give you five minutes to say yes or no, and I will take your answer as final. God is answering your prayer in His own way," he went on, with the shadow of a sneer once more across his lips. "He mostly does," came the reply, as the curtain was lifted and de Rosny stepped in, calling out as he entered, "Madame, the King!" Then there was a tramp of spurred boots, the clashing of steel scabbards, the waving of plumes, and ere I knew it I was at the feet of the Bourbon, sobbing out my prayer for mercy. He raised me gently--there was no more knightly heart than his. "Madame! It is not enemies that Henri de Bourbon needs, but friends. It is not sorrow his presence would cause, but joy. There has been enough blood shed already in this miserable affair, and--I think it is my good de Rosny here who anticipated me--all our prisoners are free, but there is some one here who will tell you the rest himself better than the Bearnnois can." And, putting a kind hand on my shoulder, he faced me round to meet the eyes of de Lorgnac. "I have come back unasked, Denise," he said; but I could make no answer, and then he took me in his arms and kissed me before them all. "A wedding present to the happy pair!" and something struck me lightly on the shoulder and fell at my feet. It was the glove that de Clermont had snatched from me on the day of my marriage. "I return a present from madame, given to me on her wedding day. It is no longer of use to me--Monsieur le Chevalier, will you not take it?" and de Clermont was before us, the same awful look in his eyes that I had seen there when he played with death before de Norreys. De Lorgnac's arm dropped from my waist, and his bronzed face paled as he stood as if petrified, looking at the soft white glove at my feet. Then with a voice as hard and stern as his look he turned to me, and pointing to the glove, said: "Is this true, madame?" "It is my glove," was all I could say.