“And I was sure of success this time.  We must try them younger.  It is all so near, yet, strangely it escapes us.  Well, Poitou, I shall come in a little when I have finished with this lady.  Tell De Sille to expect me.”

Poitou bowed respectfully and was withdrawing, too well trained to smile or even lift his eyes to where Sybilla stood by the window.

His master appeared to recollect himself.

“A moment, Poitou—­there are some troublesome people of the city rabble at the door.  Bid the guard turn out, and thrust them away.  Tell them to strike not too gently with the flats of their swords and the butts of their spears.”

Gilles de Retz listened for some time after the disappearance of his familiar.  Presently the low droning note of popular execration changed into sharper exclamations of hatred, mingled with cries of pain.

Then the marshal smiled, and rubbed his hands lightly one over the other.

“That’s my good lads,” he said; “hear the rattle of the spear-hilts upon the paving-stones?  They are bringing the butts into close acquaintance with certain very ill-shod feet.  Ah, now they are gone!”

The marshal took a long breath and went on, half to himself and half to Sybilla.

“But I own it is all most inconvenient,” he said, thoughtfully.  “Here in Paris, in King Charles’s country, it does not so greatly matter.  For the affair in Scotland has set me right with the King and in especial with the Dauphin.  By the death of the Douglases I have given back the duchy of Touraine to the kings of France after three generations.  I have therefore well earned the right to be allowed to seek knowledge in mine own way.”

“The service of the devil is a poor way to knowledge,” said the girl.

“Ah, there it is,” said the marshal, raising his hand with gentle deprecation, “even you, who are so highly privileged, are not wholly superior to vulgar prejudice.  I keep a college of priests for the service of God and the Virgin.  They have done me but little good.  Surely therefore I may be allowed a little service of That Other, who has afforded me such exquisite pleasure and aided me so much.  The Master of Evil knows all things, and he can help whom he will to the secrets of wealth, of power, and of eternal youth.”

“Have you gained any of these by the aid of that Master whom you serve?” asked the Lady Sybilla, with great quiet in her voice.

“Nay, not yet,” cried the marshal, moved for the first time, “not yet—­perhaps because I have sought too eagerly and hotly.  But I am now at least within sight of the wondrous goal.  See,” he added, with genuine excitement labouring in his voice, “see—­I am still a young man, yet though I, Gilles de Retz, was born to the princeliest fortune in France, and by marriage added another, they have both been spent well nigh to the last stiver in learning the hidden secrets of the universe.  I am still a young man, I say, but look at my whitening hair, count the deep wrinkles on my forehead, consider my withered cheek.  Have I not tasted all agonies, renounced all delights, and cast aside all scruples that I might win back my youth, and with it the knowledge of good and evil?”