“No, monsieur; but a priest to whom secrets come. And they laugh, monsieur; they laugh at de Vibrac and the sport he has made for----” He stopped; but he had said enough. I would not have heard him if he had spoken more. The place, the hour, all before me was changed. I was once again listening to Marie’s mocking words; and all the horrors of the past were upon me. They laughed. Did they? I would turn their smiles to tears of blood; and then I spoke. It was more than they expected to hear. My first words made even Guise start, and Achon’s lips, red as a wound, to pale to gray. But I was getting my revenge. I could not think of anything but that, and at last it was over, and I stood before them the basest of men. Not a word did they say in interruption or comment; but when I had done they left me where I was, Richelieu still a pace or so from me, leaning on his sword and twisting his moustache with his hand. After a while--I know not how long it was, for my mind is almost a blank when I strive to recall those moments--they returned and said something to Richelieu, to which he answered simply with a bow. Then they turned to me where I stood, a drumming in my ears, a dull, aching pain at my heart; and Achon’s voice came to me as from a far distance. He was speaking to Guise: “You see, monseigneur, that his attempt to join the Constable is open war, and will utterly damn him. Let him reach St. Loup, and we have the whole hive, queen bee and all.” Then he turned to me. “Monsieur de Vibrac! You will not speak of this to a soul. Go on as before. Let none suspect you. Take the Prince to St. Loup to-morrow. We will bring him back, and then----” He began to laugh again; but Guise checked him. “Let this end,” he said, and addressed me. “You have your instructions, monsieur, and the reward will come.” So saying, he took Achon by the arm, and they passed out through a door in the wall that separated us from the main garden. I looked after them stupidly, my mind still dazed and blurred, and a shame to which all other shame was as nothing throbbing through me. I turned to Richelieu, I know not why, and he stepped back a pace, as he would have from some foul thing. “Monsieur,” he said, “our other meeting cannot take place. Even you must know why. Monsieur! I have been in many lands, I have seen strange things, good things, and evil things; but--so help me God!--I have never yet seen a thing so evil as this--I have never yet seen man fall so low as you. The key is in the door, monsieur; and you will find the street dark enough, even to hide your shame.” With this he left me, following the others, and I, the mean, the abject, staggered toward the door like a drunken man, and, like the evil thing I was, flitted through the night. CHAPTER XX A QUOTATION FROM VIRGIL