XV

My Lord Mayenne.

I knew she was shutting the door by the click of the latch; in the next second I made the discovery that she was still on my side of it.  “What—­” I was beginning, when she laid her hand over my mouth.  A line of light showed through the crack.  She had not quite closed the door on account of the noise of the latch.  She tried again; again it rattled and she desisted.  I heard her fluttered breathing and I heard something else—­a rapid, heavy tread in the corridor without.  Into the council-room came a man carrying a lighted taper.  It was Mayenne.

Mademoiselle, with a whispered “God save us!” sank in a heap at my feet.

I bent over her to find if she had swooned, when she seized my hand in a sharp grip that told me plain as words to be quiet.

Mayenne was yawning; he had a rumpled and dishevelled look like one just roused from sleep.  He crossed over to the table, lighted the three-branched candlestick standing there, and seated himself with his back to us, pulling about some papers.  I hardly dared glance at him, for fear my eyes should draw his; the crack of our door seemed to call aloud to him to mark it; but the candle-light scarcely pierced the shadows of the long room.

More quick footsteps in the corridor.  Mayenne hitched his chair about, sidewise to the table and to us, facing the outer door.  A tall man in black entered, saluting the general from the threshold.

“So you have come back?” spoke the duke in his even tones.  It was impossible to tell whether the words were a welcome or a sentence.

“Yes,” answered the other, in a voice as noncommittal as Mayenne’s own.  He shut the door after him and walked over to the table.

“And how goes it?”

“Badly.”

The newcomer threw his hat aside and sat down without waiting for an invitation.

“What!  Badly, sirrah!” Mayenne exclaimed sharply.  “You come to me with that report?”

“I do, monsieur,” answered the other with cool insolence, leaning back in his chair.  The light fell directly on his face and proved to me what I had guessed at his first word.  The duke’s night visitor was Lucas.  “Yes,” he repeated indifferently, “it has gone badly.  In fact, your game is up.”

Mayenne jumped to his feet, bringing his fist down on the table.

“You tell me this?”

Lucas regarded him with an easy smile.

“Unfortunately, monsieur, I do.”

[Illustration:  MLLE. De MONTLUC AND FELIX BROUX IN THE ORATORY]

Mayenne turned on him, cursing.  Lucas with the quickness of a cat sprang a yard aside, dagger unsheathed.

“Put up that knife!” shouted Mayenne.

“When you put up yours, monsieur.”

“I have drawn none!”

“In your sleeve, monsieur.”

“Liar!” cried Mayenne.

I know not who was lying, for I could not tell whether the blade that flashed now in the duke’s hand came from his sleeve or from his belt.  But if he had not drawn before he had drawn now and rushed at Lucas.  He dodged and they circled round each other, wary as two matched cocks.  Lucas was strictly on the defensive; Mayenne, the less agile by reason of his weight, could make no chance to strike.  He drew off presently.