No chain of lightning links itself so quickly together as one’s thoughts. In a flash I reviewed the whole matter again, and bargained with myself. I would see her, perhaps speak to her; but it would be for the last time, and I would carry that dear memory away with me to the distant land I meant to seek if I escaped the dangers before me. I caught myself actually peering into the knots of the archers of the Scots Guards to see if she was there, and then laughed at my folly, only to look again at the next group I saw with the same expectancy. Every figure, every voice, every shadow in the long galleries, or behind the glazing of the windows, seemed to take her shape and form. There are those who may read these lines and smile at the fool and his folly. They are fortunate in not having passed through what I did. Let them examine their own hearts, however, and smile, if they can yet smile, then. Those hearts may be harder, more steeled than mine, but, I swear, that in their silent prisons lie secrets that should still the jeer and silence the gibe. For me, I am hiding nothing, concealing nothing. It is part of my punishment to lay bare the working of those influences which led me, one by one, to be what I am--a man of regrets. Strange! With every thought of the woman I loved there began to stir again within me that bitterness toward Marcilly I have spoken of before. It was the bitterness one feels toward the man whom one has wronged. In the wave of good impulse that had swept over me, I thought this evil fire had been extinguished; but here it was again, burning slowly and surely. And yet I was his brother, sworn to stand by him to the end. There were times when I felt strong, when my very heart was with him; but when these memories cropped up, I had to force myself to the right, drag myself like an unwilling dog at the end of a chain. It was with these mingled feelings in my heart, that I walked up the gallery that led to Catherine’s apartments. Cipierre was by my side, and a yard or so before us were Marcilly and Sancerre, conversing in low, rapid tones. Sancerre was getting that confidence he had prevented Cipierre from obtaining ere we started. The corridor was in semi-darkness, being lit by cressets placed at some distance apart, which threw a feeble light around them, casting grotesque shadows on the polished oak of the floor, and the heavy tapestry that clung to the walls. At the extreme end, opposite to us, the light was brighter; and facing us, at the side of the door, young Lorgnac, the lieutenant of the Queen’s Guard, was seated on a coffer, his drawn sword resting between his knees. When we were half-way up the corridor, the door near which Lorgnac was seated opened, and a man stepped out, closing it quickly behind him.