The cries of the multitude ceased, and a black-draped priest shouted unintelligible words.  Naladi listened, extending one hand.  Then her thin lips spoke a single sentence in the sharp tone of command.  Instantly burst forth a fierce roar of disapproval; war-clubs pounded the floor, spears rattled as they were brandished overhead, while above the din I caught, again and again, the shriek, “Francais! Francais!” The Queen shook her head, her fair face darkening, and glanced aside into the questioning eyes of De Noyan.  Below them the tumult increased, the mass surging forward and staring upward, every voice yelping that one term of hate, “Francais!” There was no doubting the dread menace—­they were demanding French victims for the torture of sacrifice; they clamored for white blood with which to sprinkle the altar.  I could dimly perceive now a dozen crouching slaves against the farther wall, the whites of their eyes showing in terror, and—­oh, God!—­there, to the right of them, alone, except for her burly guards, kneeling on the rock floor, with face hidden in her hands, was Eloise.  I half rose to my feet, my whole body pulsating with agony.  What was to be the ending?  What was that mad woman’s purpose?  Could she control the fierce blood-lust of those savage fanatics?  If she cared to do so, would she dare test her power in so desperate a game?  If one must be sacrificed which would she spare, De Noyan or his hapless wife?  Looking at her, cold, cynical, lustful, her eyes still turned on his face, I felt no doubt.  Let the foul fiend choose! by all the gods, Cairnes should brain her where she stood, and, Heaven helping me to do the deed, the one I loved should never die by torture!

She took her own time for decision, indifferently ignoring the howls of rage, her thin lips curling in contemptuous smile, her glance yet upon the startled Chevalier.  Laying her hand upon his sleeve, she said in French: 

“You hear the wolves howl, Monsieur?  They are mad for French blood.”

He shrugged his shoulders, staring into her expressionless face, then down upon the surging mob below.

“Saint Giles! give them sufficient of something else,” he replied, striving to pretend indifference, yet with a falter in his voice.  “You pledged us safety if we would accompany you here.”

“I pledged you safety, Monsieur,” she corrected haughtily.  “I gave no word of promise as to others.  Yet circumstances have changed.  I supposed then we had enough of victims to appease even such blood-lust as yelps yonder.”

“You mean the preacher and Benteen?”

“Ay; they would suffice, with plenty of slaves for good measure.  But now, only two remain from which to choose. Sacre! there are times when those dogs break away even from my control, and mock me.  I know not now whether one alone will glut their desire, yet I am of a mind to try the experiment before the wolves drag me to hell also.  Heard you ever such yelping of wild beasts?”