"Monsieur?" Francbois exclaimed, making a sorry attempt to draw himself up to his full height and to look the Governor fairly in the face. "I am a gentleman--a Frenchman and--a patriot." But, impassively, De Violaine--though it may be that his shoulders were shrugged almost imperceptibly--continued: "Are these ladies with whom this Englishman will endeavour to leave the city known to you?" "Yes," Francbois replied, speaking truthfully, since he could not doubt that ere long--by eleven o'clock this night, if no sooner--any falsehood he might utter would be unmasked. "Yes. La Comtesse de Valorme is, in a manner, of my kin." "Of your kin?" while beneath his lips the other drew a quick breath. "Of your kin? La Comtesse de Valorme is kin to you! But there are many De Valormes in--in the South. Is she by chance the wife of Gabriel, Comte de Valorme, who was sent to the galleys for his religion?" "She is, monsieur, the widow of Gabriel. He died in the galley _Le Requin_." "Ah! so he is dead." And again De Violaine drew a subdued breath. Then he went on: "And the other lady? She is, you say, English. A countrywoman of this man whom you denounce. Who is she? What is she? What does she here in Liége?" That the French Governor should not know this was natural, since, between the military investors of Liége and those residing in the city there could be no intercourse whatever, or only the very slightest between the commanders of the former and the magistracy of the latter; and, consequently, all that Francbois now told him was unknown previously. But of Sylvia De Violaine asked no further questions, and, going to the door again, called in the guards and bade them escort Francbois to the room he had ordained. After which, and when left alone, he sat down in his chair again and gave himself up to his reflections and to many tender, yet sad, memories. "So Gabriel is dead," he said to himself. "Poor Gabriel. Dead in one of those accursed galleys. Dead! He to be dead thus! And Radegonde is here--here in Liége. Radegonde, the one woman who ever rose as a star above my life, the one woman who might have been the flower of that life. Yet it was never to be. Never! Never! When Gabriel came all hope was gone for me. Gone! Nay, it never existed. What was it she told me on that last night? That, had her heart been hers it should have been mine--only Gabriel had gained possession of it and would hold possession of it for ever. And now--now--Gabriel is dead, and it falls to me to interrupt her, to thwart her--her, to whom once I would have given my life had she demanded it."