“My friend the cardinal!” cried Milady, seeing that on this point as on the other Lord de Winter seemed well instructed.

“Is he not your friend?” replied the baron, negligently.  “Ah, pardon!  I thought so; but we will return to my Lord Duke presently.  Let us not depart from the sentimental turn our conversation had taken.  You came, you say, to see me?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I reply that you shall be served to the height of your wishes, and that we shall see each other every day.”

“Am I, then, to remain here eternally?” demanded Milady, with a certain terror.

“Do you find yourself badly lodged, sister?  Demand anything you want, and I will hasten to have you furnished with it.”

“But I have neither my women nor my servants.”

“You shall have all, madame.  Tell me on what footing your household was established by your first husband, and although I am only your brother-in-law, I will arrange one similar.”

“My first husband!” cried Milady, looking at Lord de Winter with eyes almost starting from their sockets.

“Yes, your French husband.  I don’t speak of my brother.  If you have forgotten, as he is still living, I can write to him and he will send me information on the subject.”

A cold sweat burst from the brow of Milady.

“You jest!” said she, in a hollow voice.

“Do I look so?” asked the baron, rising and going a step backward.

“Or rather you insult me,” continued she, pressing with her stiffened hands the two arms of her easy chair, and raising herself upon her wrists.

“I insult you!” said Lord de Winter, with contempt.  “In truth, madame, do you think that can be possible?”

“Indeed, sir,” said Milady, “you must be either drunk or mad.  Leave the room, and send me a woman.”

“Women are very indiscreet, my sister.  Cannot I serve you as a waiting maid?  By that means all our secrets will remain in the family.”

“Insolent!” cried Milady; and as if acted upon by a spring, she bounded toward the baron, who awaited her attack with his arms crossed, but nevertheless with one hand on the hilt of his sword.

“Come!” said he.  “I know you are accustomed to assassinate people; but I warn you I shall defend myself, even against you.”

“You are right,” said Milady.  “You have all the appearance of being cowardly enough to lift your hand against a woman.”

“Perhaps so; and I have an excuse, for mine would not be the first hand of a man that has been placed upon you, I imagine.”

And the baron pointed, with a slow and accusing gesture, to the left shoulder of Milady, which he almost touched with his finger.

Milady uttered a deep, inward shriek, and retreated to a corner of the room like a panther which crouches for a spring.