He was silent a few moments.  Then he resumed in the same tone, “You ought to know how we, Tavannes, stand.  It is by Monsieur and the Queen-Mother; and contra the Guises.  We have all been in this matter; but the latter push and we are pushed, and the old crack will reopen.  As it is, I cannot answer for much beyond the reach of my arm.  Therefore, we take all with us except M. de Tignonville, who desires to be conducted to the Arsenal.”

She had begun to listen with averted eyes.  But as he continued to speak surprise awoke in her, and something stronger than surprise—­amazement, stupefaction.  Slowly her eyes came to him, and when he ceased to speak—­

“Why do you tell me these things?” she muttered, her dry lips framing the words with difficulty.

“Because it behoves you to know them,” he answered, thoughtfully tapping the table.  “I have no one, save my brother, whom I can trust.”

She would not ask him why he trusted her, nor why he thought he could trust her.  For a moment or two she watched him, while he, with his eyes lowered, stood in deep thought.  At last he looked up and his eyes met hers.

“Come!” he said abruptly, and in a different tone, “we must end this!  Is it to be a kiss or a blow between us?”

She rose, though her knees shook under her; and they stood face to face, her face white as paper.

“What—­do you mean?” she whispered.

“Is it to be a kiss or a blow?” he repeated.  “A husband must be a lover, Madame, or a master, or both!  I am content to be the one or the other, or both, as it shall please you.  But the one I will be.”

“Then, a thousand times, a blow,” she cried, her eyes flaming, “from you!”

He wondered at her courage, but he hid his wonder.  “So be it!” he answered.  And before she knew what he would be at, he struck her sharply across the cheek with the glove which he held in his hand.  She recoiled with a low cry, and her cheek blazed scarlet where he had struck it.

“So be it!” he continued sombrely.  “The choice shall be yours, but you will come to me daily for the one or the other.  If I cannot be lover, Madame, I will be master.  And by this sign I will have you know it, daily, and daily remember it.”

She stared at him, her bosom rising and falling, in an astonishment too deep for words.  But he did not heed her.  He did not look at her again.  He had already turned to the door, and while she looked he passed through it, he closed it behind him.  And she was alone.

CHAPTER XIX.  IN THE ORLEANNAIS.

“But you fear him?”

“Fear him?” Madame St. Lo answered; and, to the surprise of the Countess, she made a little face of contempt.  “No; why should I fear him?  I fear him no more than the puppy leaping at old Sancho’s bridle fears his tall playfellow!  Or than the cloud you see above us fears the wind before which it flies!” She pointed to a white patch, the size of a man’s hand, which hung above the hill on their left hand and formed the only speck in the blue summer sky.  “Fear him?  Not I!” And, laughing gaily, she put her horse at a narrow rivulet which crossed the grassy track on which they rode.