“It is upon Him I rely,” I responded, not knowing how best to minister to her deep distress.  “We will do all we can, Madame, to win His favor; beyond that nothing remains but to submit to His will.”

She hid her face in her arms upon the table, the light of the candle streaming almost golden in the heavy masses of her hair.  Instinctively I rested my hand caressingly upon it.

“Nay, Madame, this is time for strength, not weakness.  Afterwards we may have opportunity to weep; to-night there is call for action.”

She glanced up with a quick, impulsive gesture, and I saw her eyes were dry of tears.

“You think me unduly nervous and unstrung,” she said quietly, and I could detect a touch of indignation in the tone.  “It is merely my nature, for the impatient blood of the South has place in my veins, yet whatsoever a lady of France may do, you can trust me to accomplish, Monsieur.”

Faith! but she had a way with her which ever left me helpless, and no doubt my face exhibited how abashed I felt at the regal manner in which she fronted me.  At least I spoke no word, yet the proud look faded from her eyes, and I felt her hand touch mine.

“Forgive me, Geoffrey,” she whispered softly.  “We do not doubt each other, yet I was over hasty of speech with one who has proven so loyal a friend.”

“Nor have I aught to forgive, Madame, or more to say, except that my words meant no injustice,” I responded.  Then to avoid longer facing her I turned to where the watchful Capuchin stood.

“And now, Sir Priest, I propose being perfectly frank with you, as I do not believe this a time for mincing of words.  I am of Protestant blood; those of my line have ridden at Cromwell’s back, and one of my name stood unrepentant at the stake when Laud turned Scotland into a slaughter-house.  So ’t is safe to say I admire neither your robe nor your Order.  Yet the events of this day have gone far toward convincing me that at heart you are a man in spite of the woman’s garb you wear.  So now, what say you—­will you be comrade with me this night?”

At the brutal bluntness of my speech and question—­for I fear I took out upon him those feelings I ventured not to exploit with Madame, recalling how this same difference of faith had come between us two with its dread shadow—­a red flush sprang into the priest’s thin, wasted cheeks, and I could see how tightly his hands clinched about the crucifix at his girdle.

“As to my Order, it hath little to fear from thy dislike, young man, as that is born from early prejudice, and lack of proper learning,” he returned gravely, meeting I my eyes fairly with his own.  “Yet, speaking as frankly as yourself, I doubt if I would prove of much assistance upon a ship’s deck; such effort as you propose for this night would be wholly foreign to my habit of life.”