"But I forget--I must go to the herd. It is my duty--till the God, whose arm of flesh I am, finds fitter work for me to do. Then will I do it. I care not whether the reward be heaven or hell, so that the work be done. The cripple and the fool is not like other men. He is not holden by human laws or codes of honour, nor by the lust of land, nor wealth, nor power, nor the love of woman. He is free--free--free as Berák, the lightning of God is free--to strike where he wills--to fall where he is sent!" The two watched him, and listened, marvelling. And the Professor muttered to himself, "Before I lecture again, I must read that Genevan book of his. Our poor Vulgate is to that torrent as the waters of Siloah that flow softly!" The voice of Jean-aux-Choux had ceased. That is, his lips moved without words. But presently he turned to Claire and said, almost in his old tones, "I am a fool. I fright you, that are but a child. I do great wrong. But now I will go to the flock. They await me. I am, you say, a careless shepherd to have left them so long. Not so! I have a dog in a thousand--Toàh the dart. And, indeed, I myself am no hireling--no Iscariot. For your good cousin, Don Raphael Llorient, of Collioure, hath as yet paid me no wages--neither gold Ferdinand nor silver Philip of the Indies. A good day to you, Professor! Sleep in peace, little Claire Agnew! For the sake of one Francis, late my master, we will watch over you--even I, Berák the lightning, and Toàh my dog!" CHAPTER XXIII. THE THREE SONS OF MADAME AMÉLIE They went back, keeping step together, tall Claire with hand fearlessly placed on the shoulder of her Professor, who straightened his bowed student-back at the light touch. As he went he meditated deeply, and Claire waited for him to speak. Treading lightly by his side, she smelled the honeysuckle scent of the sweet alison which she had carried idly away in her hand. "If the Queen-Mother be dead," said the Professor, "that is one more stone out of the path of the Bearnais. The Valois loves a strong man to lean upon. For that reason he clings to D'Epernon, but some day he will find out that Epernon is only a man of cardboard. There is but one in France--or, at least, one with the gift of drawing other strong men about him." "The Bearnais?" queried Claire, playing with the sweet alison; "I wonder where he has his camp now?"