The tumult of feelings raging within me almost choked me. My mind travelled with lightning rapidity from remorse to a savage, relentless fury, from the deepest pity to a stony apathy. It came to me once, as we entered the house, to draw my dagger and plunge it into my own heart, and on the heels of the thought followed another. There was no one here who knew, and Achon and Richelieu would perhaps be silent. What mattered it to the priest how he gained his end as long as he did gain it? And as for Richelieu, bandit and ruffian though he was, he had shown me a stately courtesy when my life was in his hands, so I leaned upon the self-interest of the one and the chivalry of the other, and held myself in. We had gained the hall by this. Twice had I felt, rather than heard, Coqueville speaking to me. At last he put a hand on my shoulder and shook me gently. “_Mon ami!_” he said, “do you dream?” “Ay!” I answered, my hand to my forehead. Then, with a sudden rush of feeling I could not control, “Coqueville!” I said, “take them away at once. Delay not here a moment. There is danger--danger, I say.” My voice was harsh and high. The words arrested all, and the Princess began nervously: “Yes. Let us go! We are quite ready.” “And so are the horses in the inner court, madame,” said Coqueville; while Condé, reckless and gay, slipped his arm round his wife’s waist and kissed her. “Fear not,” he said; “Vibrac has sniffed danger the whole way. Not a soul suspects----” And a single shot rang sharply through the air. We started, even I, so suddenly, so crisply did the sound come to us through that winter day; and then another and another followed it, but from the other side of the house. “What is it?” And Marie, who had flown to the window, turned with a white face to the Princess’ cry. “We are betrayed! The place is full of men.” Before she finished speaking we heard the galloping of horses--they seemed to come from all sides--then the brazen ring of a trumpet pealed harshly out, and there was a hoarse command: “Guard all the doors! Let none pass!” With a snarling oath, Coqueville sprang to the doorway, sword in hand, and I rushed after him. Condé would have followed us, but loving arms held him back, and with a strength that one could hardly believe she possessed the Princess almost dragged him toward an inner door. “Here! here!” she gasped; “there is a way here--ah!” And she shrank back, for the door had opened upon her, and a man reeled in, mortally wounded. It was Badehorn. “We are lost! They are in the courtyard!” So saying, he slipped down limply, and in the hour of his death became a child again, and went back to his native tongue, groaning out some words, as he died, in his guttural German--God knows, they may have been prayers. And while this happened in a hand-turn, there came an angry knocking at the door, and a loud voice called: “Open! Open in the King’s name!”