“He hath his finger on a parchment.  He strives to point out something to the fair-haired man, but that other shakes his head and will not agree—­”

The marshal suddenly grew intent, and even excited.

“Look closer, Sybilla—­look closer.  Can you not read that which is written on the parchment?  I bid you, by all my power, to read it.”

Then the countenance of the Lady Sybilla was altered.  Striving and blank failure were alternately expressed upon it.

“I cannot!  Oh, I cannot!” she cried.

“By my power, I bid you.  By that which I will make you suffer if you fail me, I command you!” cried Gilles de Retz, bending himself towards her and pressing his fingers against her brow so that the points dented her skin.

The tears sprang from underneath the dark lashes which lay so tremulously upon her white cheek.

“You make me do it!  It hurts!  I cannot!” she said in the pitiful voice of a child.

“Read—­or suffer the shame!” cried Gilles de Retz.

“I will—­oh, I will!  Be not angry,” she answered pleadingly.

And underneath the silk the hands were grasped with a grip like that of a vice upon the golden cross she had borrowed from the little Maid of Galloway.

“Read me that which is written on the paper,” said the marshal.

The Lady Sybilla began to speak in a voice so low that Gilles de Retz had to incline his ear very close to her lips to listen.

“Accusation against the great lord and most noble seigneur, Gilles de Laval de Retz, Sire de—­”

“That is it—­go on after the titles,” said the eager voice of the marshal.

“Accused of having molested the messengers of his suzerain, the supreme Duke John of Brittany, accused of ill intent against the State; accused of quartering the arms-royal upon his shield; called to answer for these offences in the city of Nantes—­and that is all.”

She ended abruptly, like one who is tired and desires no more than to sleep.

Gilles de Retz drew a long sigh of relief.

“All is hid,” he said; “these things are less than nothing.  What does the Duke?”

“I cannot look again, I am weary,” she said.

“Look again!” thundered her taskmaster.

“I see the fair-haired man take the parchment from the hand of the dark, stern man—­”

“With whom I will reckon!”

“He tries to tear it in two, but cannot.  He throws it angrily in the fire.”

“My enemies are destroyed,” said Gilles de Retz, “I thank thee, great Barran-Sathanas.  Thou hast indeed done that which thou didst promise.  Henceforth I am thy servant and thy slave.”

So saying, he took a glass of water from the table and dashed it on the face of the Lady Sybilla.

“Awake,” he said, “you have done well.  Go now and repose that you may again be ready when I have need of you.”

A flicker of conscious life appeared under the purple-veined eyelids of the Lady Sybilla.  Her long, dark lashes quivered, tried to rise, and again lay still.