“Why should not the miracle happen?” It was Jean who spoke, and our eyes met. His face had paled a little, and the hand which held his goblet shook, but the moment had come. I saw he was about to risk a hazard and waited, unquiet and troubled. “I do not follow you,” said Sancerre, whilst Cipierre turned a questioning eye on his nephew. “Messieurs,” he began, “I and my friends have come here and placed our lives in your hands, not in idle recklessness, but because we have a great work to do. I have said, placed our lives in your hands, but from you I know we are safe; and we know, too--all France knows--that the King has no servants more loyal than de Beuil of Sancerre, and the head of my house. Is it not as I say?” Neither made reply. Cipierre kept pulling at his moustache, and Sancerre’s white forehead wrinkled slightly; but his keen blue eyes said “Go on,” and Jean continued: “We have just seen that between the Guise and the throne there is but one life to be reckoned with. How it has come to that, you know as well as I do. We have, in short, just discussed it, and it is needless to go over the same ground again. Now, gentlemen, are we to sit still and see Louis of Bourbon die?” “It is the King’s order,” said Cipierre, drily. “And that sentence has been confirmed by the Estates of France, to their eternal disgrace,” added Sancerre. “I had thought that five thousand swords would have flashed from their scabbards ere a prince of the blood died at the nod of Guise.” “The flashing is over, monsieur, and the gutters of Amboise still run red. The Guise have won the game, curse them!” said Cipierre. “On the contrary, there are still a few cards for us,” replied Marcilly. He had risen from his chair and was standing at the table now, the light full on his resolute features. “My lords!” he went on solemnly, “we all know the issue at stake. We all know, too, that there are times when one or two devoted men have done what was thought to be impossible. Vibrac and I have come to attempt this, and we ask your help. I see before me one in whose veins runs the blood royal of France. I see before me a soldier of the days of Pavia and Cerisoles, the head of my house, whose battle cry is ‘For my Honor and my King!’ Do I appeal to them in vain?” “What can we do?” asked Cipierre. “Are we to open the windows and call out ‘A Condé?! A Condé!’ Think you that the town will rise? Guise is Lieutenant-General of the kingdom. He has two thousand lances at his back. He holds the King and Madame Catherine in the hollow of his hand. No, the wine is drawn, messieurs, and there is nothing left but the drinking.”