She flushed red for very shame.

“I was afraid—­I knew you vexed with me,” she faltered.  “Oh, I have done ill!” She turned to me, silently imploring forgiveness.  There was no need to ask.

“Then you will let him go, monsieur?  Alack that I did not speak before!  Thank you, my cousin!”

“Of what did you suspect me?  The boy was whipped for a bit of impertinence to you; I had no cause against him.”

My heart leaped up; at the same time I scorned myself for a craven that I had been overcome by groundless terror.

“Then I have been a goose so to disturb myself,” mademoiselle laughed out in relief.  “You do well to rebuke me, cousin.  I shall never meddle in your affairs again.”

“That will be wise of you,” Mayenne returned.  “For I did mean to let the boy go.  But since you have opened his door and let him hear what he should not, I have no choice but to silence him.”

“Monsieur!” she gasped, cowering as from a blow.

“Aye,” he said quietly.  “I would have let him go.  But you have made it impossible.”

Never have I seen so piteous a sight as her face of misery.  Had my hands been free, Mayenne had been startled to find a knife in his heart.

“Never mind, mademoiselle,” I cried to her.  “You came and wept over me, and that is worth dying for.”

“Monsieur,” she cried, recovering herself after the first instant of consternation, “you are degrading the greatest noble in the land!  You, the head of the house of Lorraine, the chief of the League, the commander of the allied armies, debase yourself in stooping to take vengeance on a stable-boy.”

“It is no question of vengeance; it is a question of safety,” he answered impatiently.  Yet I marvelled that he answered at all, since absolute power is not obliged to give an account of itself.

“Is your estate then so tottering that a stable-boy can overturn it?  In that case be advised.  Go hang yourself, monsieur, while there is yet time.”

He flushed with anger, and this time he offered no justification.  He advanced on the girl with outstretched hand.

“Mademoiselle, it is not my habit to take advice from the damsels of my household.  Nor do I admit them to my council-room.  Permit me then to conduct you to the staircase.”

She retreated toward the threshold where I stood, still covering me as with a shield.

“Monsieur, you are very cruel to me.”

“Your hand, mademoiselle.”

She did not yield it to him but held out both hands, clasped in appeal.

“Monsieur, you have always been my loving kinsman.  I have always tried to do your pleasure.  I thought you meant harm to the boy because he was a servant to M. de Mar, and I knew that M. de St. Quentin, at least, had gone over to the other side.  I did not know what you would do with him, and I could not rest in my bed because it was through me he came here.  Monsieur, if I was foolish and frightened and indiscreet, do not punish the lad for my wrong-doing.”