We turned to the sound, and before us stood Achon, his face gleaming like ivory above his black robes; but it was not he who arrested our attention, whose look froze the words of defiance upon our lips. It was that other figure, a little behind the priest, taller by a head than any of us, with a purple scar on his cheek, and a sombre fury burning in the eyes, that held us spellbound with their power. His was the voice that had arrested us in our devil’s work. He it was upon whom we gazed. Ay! I have known brave men, men to whom death was nothing, men who played with life as a child with a ball, yet never one so hardy as to stand without flinching before The Guise in his wrath. “The Guise!” stammered Richelieu; but I said nothing, looking at the sinister figures before me. And at Richelieu’s voice a grim smile passed over the duke’s face. “Messieurs,” he said, “your memories are short. Have you already forgotten du Charry? Is an edict but a week old to be made waste-paper?” We knew what he meant, and there rose before me a vision of poor du Charry, whom Guise had hanged at his own gate for the very offence of which we were guilty, and the prospect of a like shameful fate sent a shiver through me. I am certain, too, that we had never escaped but for the dark schemes the duke was weaving in his brain. Du Charry was only an idle brawler. He killed his man, and his own gate-posts made his gallows; but we--we had our use at present, and that--it was nothing else, I am sure--saved us from the hangman. We made no answer to Guise; but Achon whispered low to him, and he spoke again. “Put up your swords”; and, with a cynical frankness, “it is well for you I have need of you at present. Remember, however--I hold this against you.” We did as we were bidden, Richelieu with a slight, almost imperceptible shrug of his shoulders, and a look at me as if to say “another day,” and as my sword went home in its sheath, Achon turned to me. “Monsieur,” he said, “you have found your way here more easily than I expected, and before your time. Perhaps, however, it would be as well to get to our business now.” The hour for which I had waited had come at last. I had longed for this; thought over and planned out all I meant to say. It had become as familiar a thing to me as the sword by my side. And yet, so strange was my nature, as Achon spoke, as my revenge came within arm’s length of me, I lost all the thread of my scheme. I hesitated and faltered. I can see it all now before me: the square of dazzling moonlight, the gray walls of the Priory, with that one faint light burning in a distant wing. Achon was facing me, and his white face would have been like that of the dead, but for the starry eyes and red, cruel lips, on which there played the flicker of a smile. Richelieu stood glancing from one to another of us, swinging his plumed hat in his hand, and a little on one side towered the gigantic figure of Guise.