Seeing her husband pocket that key, the countess had a presentiment of danger.  She next heard him open the door opposite to that which he had just locked and enter a room where the counts of Herouville slept when they did not honor their wives with their noble company.  The countess knew of that room only by hearsay.  Jealousy kept her husband always with her.  If occasionally some military expedition forced him to leave her, the count left more than one Argus, whose incessant spying proved his shameful distrust.

In spite of the attention the countess now gave to the slightest noise, she heard nothing more.  The count had, in fact, entered a long gallery leading from his room which continued down the western wing of the castle.  Cardinal d’Herouville, his great-uncle, a passionate lover of the works of printing, had there collected a library as interesting for the number as for the beauty of its volumes, and prudence had caused him to build into the walls one of those curious inventions suggested by solitude or by monastic fears.  A silver chain set in motion, by means of invisible wires, a bell placed at the bed’s head of a faithful servitor.  The count now pulled the chain, and the boots and spurs of the man on duty sounded on the stone steps of a spiral staircase, placed in the tall tower which flanked the western corner of the chateau on the ocean side.

When the count heard the steps of his retainer he pulled back the rusty bolts which protected the door leading from the gallery to the tower, admitting into the sanctuary of learning a man of arms whose stalwart appearance was in keeping with that of his master.  This man, scarcely awakened, seemed to have walked there by instinct; the horn lantern which he held in his hand threw so feeble a gleam down the long library that his master and he appeared in that visible darkness like two phantoms.

“Saddle my war-horse instantly, and come with me yourself.”

This order was given in a deep tone which roused the man’s intelligence.  He raised his eyes to those of his master and encountered so piercing a look that the effect was that of an electric shock.

“Bertrand,” added the count laying his right hand on the servant’s arm, “take off your cuirass, and wear the uniform of a captain of guerrillas.”

“Heavens and earth, monseigneur!  What? disguise myself as a Leaguer!  Excuse me, I will obey you; but I would rather be hanged.”

The count smiled; then to efface that smile, which contrasted with the expression of his face, he answered roughly:—­

“Choose the strongest horse there is in the stable and follow me.  We shall ride like balls shot from an arquebuse.  Be ready when I am ready.  I will ring to let you know.”

Bertrand bowed in silence and went away; but when he had gone a few steps he said to himself, as he listened to the howling of the storm:—­

“All the devils are abroad, jarnidieu!  I’d have been surprised to see this one stay quietly in his bed.  We took Saint-Lo in just such a tempest as this.”