“Have your pistols ready,” answered Luc in a stern whisper, “and get to some vantage where you can see what is going on within.” The man obeyed, creeping away through the mingled moonlight and firelight until he found another notch in the wood of the wall. Luc again looked into the barn. The priest had now thrown on some powder that filled the whole building with smoke, the Italian was shouting short sentences in an uncouth language, and the third man had sprung forward and was staring at the corpse through the soft film of the bluish smoke. “She does not speak!” he cried. “She does not speak!” The priest gave a furious exclamation and cast something dark and heavy into the flames, and the Italian tore a chain from his neck and flung it in the lap of the dead woman. A towering red and orange flame, that seemed as if it would set the roof on fire, suddenly shot up from the brazier, an unearthly and awful voice called out-- “Beware of she who comes from Bohemia!” This was cut short by a passionate ejaculation; who it came from Luc could not tell. All three men seemed to run together; the brazier was overturned, and there was perfect darkness, broken by a shriek, a groan, several short cries of fury, and the rip of unsheathing swords. Luc ran round to the doorless opening that was the main entrance to the barn; as he reached it a man came rushing out with a weapon in his hand, bare in the moonlight. Luc seized him and flung the sword away. The servant had come up now and stood ready with his pistol. “Explain yourself,” demanded the Marquis. The other, completely taken by surprise, wrenched himself free, but made no attempt to escape. “Are you the Devil?” he asked, with more eagerness than fear. “No,” answered Luc in brief disgust. Before he could say more the priest came out of the barn carrying a lantern. “What is this foul mummery?” asked Luc sternly. “I shall speak to the Governor.” Seeing his companion in the power of a stranger, the priest gave a cry and made as if he would fly into the night. But the other turned on him fiercely. “By God, you are wanted here!” he cried, and the priest came back instantly. “This is a creditable affair for one of your cloth to be involved in,” said Luc. The priest ignored the comment, but his companion remarked with a great degree of haughtiness-- “I suppose I have been disarmed by a gentleman?” “Oh yes,” answered Luc quietly. “Take up your sword.” The stranger turned and looked for it by the aid of the priest’s lantern. “Where is the Italian?” asked Luc. “Escaped,” returned the other carelessly, slipping his weapon into the scabbard. “The rascal ran out by the back way,” added the priest. “He hath left his horse,” remarked Luc, glancing at the three beasts. “Being far too frightened to think of it,” was the answer, and the stranger, with a sudden show of pleasantness, came up to the Marquis and laid his hand on his shoulder.