De Tremblecourt laid him softly back on the cushion, and my tears fell fast on the cold hand I held in mine. Who could remember wrongs at such a moment? The King bent over him and whispered in his ear. I thought I heard the word "pray," and a wan smile played on the lips of the dying man. "Too late--I cannot cringe now. Ah! Norreys! I will join you soon. Denise--pardon," and he was gone. * * * * * Late that night when all had gone to rest I walked on the ramparts of Lorgnac, and leaning against the parapet, looked out into the moonlight. So lost was I in thought that it was not until his hand was on my shoulder that I knew my husband had joined me. "Denise," he said, "the King goes to-morrow, and--I--do I go or stay?" And Monsieur le Chevalier--he is Monsieur le Maréchal Duc now--got the answer he wanted. THE END. THE CAPTAIN MORATTI'S LAST AFFAIR CHAPTER I. "ARCADES AMBO." "Halt!" The word, which seemed to come from nowhere, rang out into the crisp winter moonlight so sharply, so suddenly, so absolutely without warning, that the Cavaliere Michele di Lippo, who was ambling comfortably along, reined in his horse with a jerk; and with a start, looked into the night. He had not to fret his curiosity above a moment, for a figure gliding out from the black shadows of the pines, fencing in each side of the lonely road, stepped full into the white band of light, stretching between the darkness on either hand and stood in front of the horse. As the two faced each other, it was not the fact that there was a man in his path that made the rider keep a restraining hand on his bridle. It was the persuasive force, the voiceless command, in the round muzzle of an arquebuse pointed at his heart, and along the barrel of which di Lippo could see the glint of the moonlight, a thin bright streak ending in the wicked blinking star of the lighted fuse. The cavaliere took in the position at a glance, and being a man of resolution, hurriedly cast up his chances of escape by spurring his horse, and suddenly riding down the thief. In a flash the thought came and was dismissed. It was impossible; for the night-hawk had taken his stand at a distance of about six feet off, space enough to enable him to blow his quarry's heart out, well before the end of any sudden rush to disarm him. The mind moves like lightning in matters of this kind, and di Lippo surrendered without condition. Though his heart was burning within him, he was outwardly cool and collected. He had yielded to force he could not resist. Could he have seen ever so small a chance, the positions might have been reversed. As it was, Messer the bandit might still have to look to himself, and his voice was icy as the night as he said: "Well! I have halted. What more? It is chill, and I care not to be kept waiting."