I HURRIED on, utterly careless whither my footsteps led. Richelieu’s speech burned within me, and my very soul shrivelled under the fierce light he had poured upon it. I saw myself in all my infamy. I cursed, again and again, the coward heart that had not nerved my hand to strike him dead, as he flung at me those bitter words of insult and scorn. But a guilty conscience makes a craven soul, and the lesson was brought home to me, as with blanched lips and trembling limbs I went on, keeping in the shadow, looking neither to the right nor to the left. Now and again I met a few passers-by, but, night-hawks or honest men, they left me the road, until at last I would have been glad if one of them had even drawn upon me. Finally I reached the Martroi and gained my chamber in Cipierre’s house. Alone there I tore the letters and the glove into shreds, and cast the fragments into the fire; then I flung the sword that had served me so ill to a corner of the room, venting upon the senseless steel some of the fury in my heart, and, undressing, lay down to sleep. But no rest came to my hot eyes, and I spent the weary hours counting the diamonds on the lattice window, watching the moonlight fade into darkness, and listening to the sighing of the wind, which rose with the setting of the moon and gave promise of a day as gray as sorrow. I did not rise till about the dinner hour, eleven o’clock, and when I descended, I found the Vicomte and Jean awaiting me. I was surprised at my own self-control. During the hours of the night, my heart had, as it were, steeled itself within its guilt. All sensations of regret or remorse were numbed and paralyzed. I thought them dead. All that lived within me was a burning hate against those whom in my madness I accused of bringing me to the pass to which I had sunk, and so I gave my traitor hand to both Cipierre and Marcilly, and sat down to eat with them, cordial and even gay. I had some right to be gay. In a few hours my revenge would be complete. At last the moment came for us to start upon our perilous enterprise, and we stood at the door ready to mount, a couple of Swiss with us. There was no “good-by” said. To all intents we might have been making our daily visit to the Prince; but Cipierre’s hand lingered in that of his nephew, and when he took mine in his clasp, he gripped me like a vise in his excitement. “Once free, you will ride hard, de Vibrac,” he whispered. “Trust me for that, monsieur!” and, springing into the saddle, I followed Marcilly into the street. The promise of the dawn had been fulfilled, and there was a dense fog in the air, blurring the outlines of the houses, and making the figures of the passers-by loom like indistinct shadows. In truth, it was difficult to see two yards ahead, and Marcilly, as he held his hand out before him, said: “If it keeps like this, and we bring off the stroke, you will get out of Orleans without a question being asked.”