Never can I forget the expression on De Noyan’s face as he listened.  Incredulity changed to loathing, then to despair.  As though the woman had snatched a mask from off her features he gazed now upon the demon soul revealed in all its hideousness.  Instantly all that was physically beautiful became loathsome from the foulness within.  He endeavored to speak, to protest, but all his recklessness had deserted him and he trembled like a leaf.  Already the gesticulating priests, thinking themselves cheated of their victims, were half way up the rude steps of stone; behind them surged the mob, screaming “Francais,” their torches waving madly.  Naladi laughed.

“So your nerve fails, Monsieur,” she sneered coldly. “’Tis well it does, for you need expect no mercy from me.  I also hate the French.”

She turned from him, her arms outspread, the crimson drapery extended like wings.  The glare of a hundred torches reflected on her face, and her lips spoke one word of stern command.  Every voice ceased its howling, every form became motionless, the silence so sudden it was painful.  The woman stood above them, dominant; every eye was fastened upon her; the priests were prostrate on the stair.  I saw De Noyan leaning forward, his teeth clinched, his face death-like.  From wall to wall Naladi’s gaze wandered; once she looked into his eyes, then down again upon the mob of savages.  Like the sharp hiss of a snake a single sentence leaped from her thin lips.  The effect was magical.  I scarcely realized the transformation, so rapidly was it accomplished.  Confusion filled the chamber, yet out of the tumult I caught sight of Madame being driven toward the altar, her white face full of pleading, her hands, now freed, clasping her rosary.  De Noyan must have beheld her at the same instant.  With shout of rage he leaped recklessly forward, hurled aside the scarlet figure, and, uttering an oath, sprang on the parapet.

“By God! you foul fiend of hell!” he screamed madly.  “I ’ll fight for it; fight like a gentleman of France!”

I leaped to my feet, Cairnes beside me.  Desperate as the chance was, we would be with him on that floor, with him smiting to the death.  Yet even as he poised for the leap downward the woman’s scarlet arms struck, and he went over like a stone, crashing into a huddled heap on the rock floor.  Naladi laughed, leaning far out to look down, like a gloating devil.

“Fight, you poor fool!” she exclaimed in French. “Sacre! who struck hardest?”

Sick, trembling like a frightened child, I dragged the dazed Puritan down again, crouching behind the stones.

CHAPTER XXXVI

THE INTERFERENCE OF THE JESUIT

I could look no longer on that hellish scene.  It seemed as if all strength, all manhood, had deserted me before the utter helplessness of our position.  There was nothing left except useless sacrifice—­a moment’s hopeless struggle, the sole reward death under the war-club or by torture.  God knows it was not myself I considered, but Eloise.  It was thought of her which so unnerved me, so paralyzed body and mind.  The Puritan dropped his heavy hand on my shoulder.