For a moment we stood in irresolute surprise, and then the Italian recovered himself. “Your Majesty--here--and alone,” he began; but she stopped him with a slight gesture of the hand, and, turning to Sancerre, said with that sweet, low voice of hers: “My Lord! This should have been given to you by the Queen, my mother. ’Tis the King’s signet. Take it now.” She placed the ring in Sancerre’s hand, as she added, a little sadly: “I could trust no one to give it to you. This will pass you, and”--she hesitated a little--“your friends free, for there are those who would try and stop you, even to-night, on the chance of the King’s pardon being recalled to-morrow. Nay, not a word, Sancerre!” she went on, with a slight flush on her face, as the old man began to pour forth his thanks, “It is for the cause we all have at heart, and may God give you success!” Then Louis de Beuil knelt before his Queen. “Your Majesty had in us loyal and faithful subjects before--you now have men who are your very slaves.” So saying, he touched her hand with his lips, and, rising to his feet, stood beside her, a towering figure, looking, with his long white beard and silver hair, like some good enchanter of the legends of romance. It was a curious picture--the light from the Mercury flickering over the room, the ape cowering among his cushions, staring at us with bead-like, unthinking eyes, the group of stern men around that fair young figure, that Queen who was Queen for but a day. There as she stood, with the lights and shadows playing on her, and her sweet, trustful face turned toward us, I caught myself wondering why should she--the niece of Guise--be doing her utmost to help his most deadly foe? Was it pity alone? Or was there truth in the whisperings of the Court, that Mary of Scotland had lost her heart, ere she was Queen of France, to the gay and gallant Bourbon, and that in secret she was ever true to her love? And even as I put these thoughts from me, the Queen broke the silence. “Messieurs! It is late. We must ask Bentivoglio to conduct us to the King.” With a slight inclination of her head, and preceded by Bentivoglio, she left the cabinet. When she had gone, we gathered round Sancerre, who stood near the lamp, the ring in his hand. “_Tudieu!_” he laughed, as he slipped the signet on his finger. “I see now why Richelieu wished to accompany us. I would wager my best hawk against a hedge-crow that we meet him yet. Come, gentlemen!” So saying, he led the way from the cabinet toward the outer gateway, where Lorgnac was yet at his vigil. “Still on duty!” said Cipierre, stopping to exchange a word with the lieutenant of the guard, who was a favorite of his. “As you see, monsieur.” “What! Do they make you watch all night? It was not so in my time.” “No, monsieur!” replied the young soldier; “but till midnight, when Crequi relieves me--good-night, messieurs!”