I started as the thought came to me, and then with it came a horror and loathing of the evil thing. I sprang from my chair and paced the room. It could not be. It was impossible. I looked around me like a guilty man, and then I clutched at a straw. I tried to pray, but my heart would not feel the words that my cold lips uttered, and for the first time I rose to my feet, without even that momentary strength that prayer had hitherto given me. As I glanced around me, I saw what I had not noticed before--a flagon of wine, and near it a cup, left there by the thoughtful care of Cipierre’s servants. Three times did I fill the cup to the brim and drain it. I wanted sleep, rest, forgetfulness--if it was but for a moment. I wanted to become oblivious of the new horror that had come upon me, to obtain in the Lethe of sleep that peace which cannot come even to those who die. For death is but the door which opens to lead us into another life. We know not if it brings rest, we know not if we leave behind us anything except the earthly shell of the soul. But sleep--there is rest in it--if only for a little while. And for a space it came to me, a deep and dreamless slumber, and when I awoke the morning was well advanced. I made my toilet, and looked out of the lattice window. The day was one in which sunlight and mist strove with each other, and the sun was winning, aided by a breeze, which shred the clouds into woolly wisps, that floated westward in long lines, with patches of blue sky between them. The rest had done me good. I held my hand to the light, and it was steady, not trembling like an aspen leaf, as it was when I lay down to sleep; but the evil thing in my mind was still there, and, strange to say, I no longer looked at it with the horror and loathing of a few hours back. As I turned from the window there was a knock at the door, and I heard Marcilly’s voice asking if he could come in. “Come in!” I answered back, and my voice was gay and cordial, for a traitor must know to be a hypocrite. Jean entered, looking refreshed and strong again, his slight, spare figure set off to advantage in the rich brown and yellow of his dress, while a short cloak of the same colors, fastened at the throat by a jewelled clasp, was hung carelessly over his shoulders. “Is it time to be moving?” I asked as he came in, adding, “I fear I have slept late.” “There is time yet, Vibrac,” he answered, seating himself in the arm-chair and playing with his gloves. There was something on his mind, something he desired to say; but I would not help him, and at last he spoke. “Gaspard,” he said, “there is a thing I want you to do for me.”