But still the Princess stood--hesitating--wavering. Her pale lips moved as if in prayer, and then, as one who takes a sudden plunge, she held out her hands with a quick, impulsive gesture, and, raising Jean to his feet, looked him full in the face with eyes that swam with tears. “May God bless you!” she said; “be it as you will.” So they stood for a moment, her hands resting on his shoulders. Then bending forward she kissed him, and with a sob turned and passed out of the room, all following except myself. It is odd how sometimes, when the mind is distracted, a petty thing will arrest the attention, and remain in the memory for ever, a centre upon which other recollections revolve. As they went out the last to go was Majolais. At the door he stopped, a little spot of brilliant color, and, turning his head, looked back upon me. In that one moment his eyes seemed to read my thoughts and mock my misery. So he stood for a breath, then, pointing a claw-like finger at me, he turned and fled. It was as if some fiend gibed at my fall. I remained for long where I was, in the shadow of the heavy curtains that drooped over the window, glowering at the band of sunlight on the rushes and thinking of a hundred things. The past year of my life came before me in vivid detail. All my struggles with myself, all my failures. How inch by inch I had slipped down mentally, until it came to pass that I yielded without effort to the hideous whisper of the fiend, when I let Marcilly ride off by himself. I was certain that Marie loved me still, and that in her heart she would welcome freedom. But an hour or so back it was this that made me long, yet fear, to see him stretched dead in the snow. It was this that made me hate myself, and yet urged me on. Fifty times during the scene with the Princess, had I been within an ace of stepping to Marcilly’s side, and asking to share his enterprise. Each time I was held back, caught by the throat and held back by my evil thoughts. To my mind the attempt was impossible. He must die--and then--I became aware I was not alone, for Jean stood at my right hand smiling at me with his kind eyes. “Gaspard,” he said, “I want a friend. You refused me once to-day. Will you deny me now? Will you come?” I was not altogether lost. I was sick with the shame of what had passed. I dared not refuse. “I will come,” I answered, and my voice was strange, even to my own ears. It was Fate. Who can resist its decrees? “_Pour ma foy, et mon roy_,” he said, linking his arm in mine, as he quoted the motto of his house. “To horse, man! There is not a moment to lose.” CHAPTER VI A PRIEST OF BAAL “So you think your plans well laid?” “YES, and well thought out, Gaspard. The idea has been working in my head for some little time, and what happened to-day has convinced me it is feasible.” “I do not follow.”