He had learned before he entered that Tavannes was abroad, and was aware, therefore, that he ran little risk.  But his betrothed, who knew nothing of his adventures in the interval, saw in him one who came to her at the greatest risk, across unnumbered perils, through streets swimming with blood.  And though she had never embraced him save in the crisis of the massacre, though she had never called him by his Christian name, in the joy of this meeting she abandoned herself to him, she clung to him weeping, she forgot for the time his defection, and thought only of him who had returned to her so gallantly, who brought into the room a breath of Poitou, and the sea, and the old days, and the old life; and at the sight of whom the horrors of the last two days fell from her—­for the moment.

And Madame Carlat wept also, and in the room was a sound of weeping.  The least moved was, for a certainty, M. de Tignonville himself, who, as we know, had gone through much that day.  But even his heart swelled, partly with pride, partly with thankfulness that he had returned to one who loved him so well.  Fate had been kinder to him than he deserved; but he need not confess that now.  When he had brought off the coup which he had in his mind, he would hasten to forget that he had entertained other ideas.

Mademoiselle had been the first to be carried away; she was also the first to recover herself.

“I had forgotten,” she cried suddenly, “I had forgotten,” and she wrested herself from his embrace with violence, and stood panting, her face white, her eyes affrighted.  “I must not!  And you—­I had forgotten that too!  To be here, Monsieur, is the worst office you can do me.  You must go!  Go, Monsieur, in mercy I beg of you, while it is possible.  Every moment you are here, every moment you spend in this house, I shudder.”

“You need not fear for me,” he said, in a tone of bravado.  He did not understand.

“I fear for myself!” she answered.  And then, wringing her hands, divided between her love for him and her fear for herself, “Oh, forgive me!” she said.  “You do not know that he has promised to spare me, if he cannot produce you, and—­and—­a minister?  He has granted me that; but I thought when you entered that he had gone back on his word, and sent a priest, and it maddened me!  I could not bear to think that I had gained nothing.  Now you understand, and you will pardon me, Monsieur?  If he cannot produce you I am saved.  Go then, leave me, I beg, without a moment’s delay.”

He laughed derisively as he turned back his cowl and squared his shoulders.

“All that is over!” he said, “over and done with, sweet!  M. de Tavannes is at this moment a prisoner in the Arsenal.  On my way hither I fell in with M. de Biron, and he told me.  The Grand Master, who would have had me join his company, had been all night at Marshal Tavannes’ hotel, where he had been detained longer than he expected.  He stood pledged to release Count Hannibal on his return, but at my request he consented to hold him one hour, and to do also a little thing for me.”