and now i come to what has saddened all my life since, and still must sadden it.

in poictiers, it will be remembered, much was to happen. there mademoiselle de narbonne was to leave me behind in hiding while she rode on to plessis to gain the king's ear through philip de commines. there, too, i was to forestall her useless sacrifice and, in a triple sense, disappear into the dark, into the night, into her scorn and contempt, into the valley of the shadow, from which none ride out at the hither end.

and yet none of these things came to pass. we reckoned without the king's energy of will to strike, and the swiftness of his wrath.

once only she referred to the part she proposed that i should play. it was on the morning of that last thursday in august, and the great silence of the deep heart of the wood through which we rode had fallen upon us.

"father paulus has told you that we part at poictiers?" she said, looking straight forward between her horse's twitching ears.

"yes; it is all arranged between us."

then silence fell again, but she gave her reins a little impatient shake as if she asked in her heart what manner of man was this who had no word of gratitude or even of plain thanks to offer her. but it was better so; the graceless boor would easier seem the lying scoundrel.

"what will you do, monsieur, while you are waiting for news?" she went on at last.

"rather let us ask, what will you do? how, for instance, do you propose to pass the gates of plessis?"

"i have thought of that; by the king's signet which you hold."

"the king's signet?"

"yes; when lesellè refused you admission to the presence the afternoon you left plessis, monsieur de commines passed you the king's ring, and in the haste that followed it was overlooked. you have it still?"

"mademoiselle," i cried, shaken out of my enforced coldness, "you astonish me. i had forgotten the king's ring."

"you had less need to remember than i," she answered, glancing at me for the first time. "when those we—we—esteem are in danger—but this is no danger, monsieur? all will go well, will it not?"

there was a little catch in her throat as she ended, and my own was not free from a significant parchedness as i replied, giving the lie as light an appearance of careless truth as i could—"surely not; monsieur de commines will protect you."

"i was not thinking of myself," said she, "but for fear the ring should be forgotten in to-morrow's haste, as it was when you left plessis, you had better give it to me now."

for a moment i hesitated. since she was to remain behind in poictiers she required no token to open the gates of plessis. but, on the other hand, neither did i! no fear but by day or by night the drawbridge would swing down that the traitor gaspard hellewyl might pass over! then a new thought decided me, and drawing the signet from the inner pocket where it had lain forgotten, i handed it to her. in the doubtful days to come, the days that lay between poictiers and navarre upon her return journey, the king's ring boldly used might hold her safe. there was comfort in that.

"see how you make all smooth for me," said she, smiling up at me as she took the ring; and partly because she was suzanne de narbonne and i nothing better than gaspard hellewyl, but partly also because of the lie she was so shortly to be told, i dared not answer her back, dared not say, would god i could make all smooth till the mound of the grave makes all rough for the one left behind.

at the coq rouge, the inn of the king's choosing, we parted without formality. some trivial excuse appeared reason enough, but the truth was i did not dare trust myself to drift into a farewell that was for her a good-night until the morrow, but for me until the great morrow of the eternal dawn. i had my letter to write, and how, having the one moment kissed her hand, could i the next coldly set myself down a liar and a scoundrel?

but an hour passed, and the letter was still unwritten. then, as i tore up my sixth draft, the door opened without a knock, and martin slipped quietly in.

"mademoiselle wants you, and i think there is trouble," he said in a whisper.

"mademoiselle de narbonne?"

"mademoiselle suzanne."

"it is all one."

"maybe, but she bade me say mademoiselle suzanne sent me; mademoiselle suzanne, i was to make no mistake about that."

"where is she, and why do you think there is trouble?" for the moment the only trouble i feared was that i would forget myself, and being a lover, fail to play the man.

"in father paul's room. there is a woman with her, and nine times in ten when trouble comes, it comes by way of a woman."

"tell me what you know, but quickly, for mademoiselle is waiting."

"let her wait," he grumbled; "we waited long enough at morsigny, and for no good. that is always the way, let a woman come, and poof! a man's love of a lifetime is forgotten. all right, monsieur gaspard, i'll go on, but you'll allow it's hard to be put aside for a stranger. as i was sitting in the court below, one of the house servants came to me saying there was a woman wanting the lady who travelled with us. naturally i came first to tell you, the woman following all smothered in a hooded cloak, though the air outside is like a furnace. but as i turned to the left, the fool of a man cried out that madame's room was to the right, and what could i do but take her there? mademoiselle came at my knock, and i think she must have lain down in her clothes, for though she was fully dressed, her hair was all tumbled about her shoulders. but she had not rested much, her face was so black and white, and her eyes like the eyes of a fever."

"i know all that, get to the end," i said harshly. it cut me to the heart, angering me almost beyond bearing, to hear him catalogue her weariness so bluntly, and know how bitterly i must still make her suffer.

"you said, tell all you know," he answered. "but as to the end, the end was that, telling me to stand aside, she spoke a minute or two to the woman, shrinking from her first, then catching her in her arms as if she was her sister, and a bouncing armful she is—she'd make two of mademoiselle. she took her to father paul's room, which was empty, and bade me tell you that mademoiselle suzanne wanted you. 'remember,' said she, 'remember to say mademoiselle suzanne wants him.'"

"come, then, but wait outside the door. if father paul should return, tell him what you have told me, but let no one else in."

the room was long and narrow. in three of the corners there were beds, and in the fourth a bench; a table carrying a lighted lamp stood in the centre. at the further end a window overlooked the roof of an outhouse with a walled lane beyond. the casement was open, and through it came the clear sound of voices from the lane's-folk taking the air in the slowly cooling august heat. the two women were by the table, mademoiselle de narbonne at its side and facing the door, her companion at the end nearest the window, which she fronted. the hood of her cloak hung back upon her shoulders, and as i closed the door she turned.

"brigitta!"

"brigitta, m'sieu," and with a giggling laugh she dipped an awkward curtsey. then i knew why i had hated to see mademoiselle so salute me in the old days of her masquerade at morsigny; it seemed to lower her to the level of this flanders peasant.

from brigitta i looked with anxious apprehension to mademoiselle de narbonne, but to my relief she was smiling through a twinkle of tears, and the look of heavy care which had oppressed her these ten days was entirely lifted.

"brigitta! i thought you were in plessis?"

"so i was, monsieur gaspard, but four days ago the king gave me to jan meert and sent us here."

"to jan meert?"

"oh, not for the first time!" said she, tossing her head, but though it was to me she spoke her eyes were on mademoiselle's face as if, being a woman, she feared the woman's judgment rather than the man's, "and i'm not ashamed either. what do we dogs of peasants who love one another need with a priest?"

"i rated you higher than that," said i.

"i know you did, monsieur gaspard," and the defiance in her eyes softened. "it was the one thing i loved in you, that, and that you were a gentleman who could make me mistress of solignac, but i thought you a fool all the time. then jan meert came and burnt solignac for my sake, and that settled it. i'm no owl to roost on charred sticks, even to be called madame."

"jan meert burnt solignac for your sake?"

again she laughed, but this time with a fuller heartiness, as if she were on surer ground and better pleased with herself.

"it's not every woman has her man do such a thing for her."

"he did more than that, he killed babette?"

"babette was a cat with claws in her tongue, many a time they've scratched me to the bone. babette's no loss. but i let no harm come to you, monsieur gaspard. remember how i lured you to me that day and kept you safe; you owe me thanks for that."

"then you knew?"

"not for certain, though i better than guessed. but you had always treated me en gentilhomme, and so——"

"have we time for all this?" broke in mademoiselle, speaking for the first time. "tell him why jan meert is in plessis."

"there is no need," answered i, remembering the king's promise that, fail or succeed, i should meet the man who had made me homeless. it was truly a genially humoursome way of flinging his old tools to the rubbish heap. "he is there by the grace of god and saint louis of plessis! what i do not understand is why she is here."

"that you may escape! do you not see?" cried mademoiselle, half laughing, half in sobs, "do you not see that there is no need for me to go to plessis at all now she is safe?"

"why," said brigitta, "was it to save me—me, old pieter the herdsman's daughter, that you came back? mademoiselle! did i not say he played his part en gentilhomme? oh, monsieur gaspard, you may not own a rood of land worth the having, but you are a grand seigneur for all that. to save me! and i burnt solignac."

"i did not know that."

"you would have come all the same, you know you would."

"i know he would," repeated mademoiselle, her face all aglow; "but now, thank god! there is no need for either to go."

"no," answered i; "after i have met jan meert there will be no need to go on to plessis. but since she came to warn me, why is she here with you?"

"i'll answer that," said brigitta, and as she spoke, a flush reddened mademoiselle's cheeks. "peasant or grand madame, we women are all one flesh. if mademoiselle had come a-visiting my man in the dusk i'd ask the reason why, and ask it sharply, so to make no mischief i came straight to her."

"it was well meant," said i, "but——"

"but it was not needed," said mademoiselle, her face still rosy. "i can trust my grand seigneur."

"oh, mademoiselle! hush! hush!"

"true, monsieur, it was you who were to speak plainer, was it not? at least, so you told me one morning at morsigny."

"suzanne! suzanne! do not try me too far, lest i forget myself, my poverty, my broken hopes, everything but——"

"but the one thing i pray god you may never forget," said she, finishing my sentence for me a second time, but not as i would have dared. "do you think i do not know what you are? whether would you have a woman love a man or a county in flanders? there in paris you risked your life to save an unknown woman's honour, there in tours"—and she laughed a little, not loudly, but the merriest, happiest laugh i had heard for two weeks—"in tours you were ready to kill a man or two for the same woman's sake, though the wrath of the king was only a mile away in plessis. hush! sir, hush! i shall speak. i cannot, i will not, risk the spoiling of my life by a mock modesty. these things are the truth, and my justification. the king hoodwinked you to a folly that was a crime. oh, monsieur!" and again she laughed, "who ever denied your simplicity, and even there, in the being hoodwinked, there was that living by ideals which women love—at least in others. thinking no dishonour you saw none, and so rode to morsigny to do the king's work. there in morsigny the serving girl wore to you the crown of womanhood——"

"you are mademoiselle de narbonne," said i hoarsely.

"i was suzanne d'orfeuil to you, monsieur gaspard de helville," she retorted, "and you, the friend of the prince de talmont, with the building of your fortunes, as you believed, made certain, were not ashamed to stoop. now i am suzanne de narbonne, and you—you are the man who climbed the grey leap for my sake, who carried tristan's halter back to tristan for my sake, who laid his life at the feet of louis——"

"for my sake!" cried brigitta.

"no!" said mademoiselle, "but for mine! for mine, because he would not seem little in my eyes. and now he says, you are mademoiselle de narbonne! all because of certain acres in bearn and bigorre, acres that i love dearly enough, but not so dearly—"

"suzanne! suzanne!" i cried, drawing her to me inch by inch, drawing her slowly for the bare pleasure of feeling how she hung against my strength, and yet was not loth to come; slowly, slowly, till she was in my arms and i bending over her. "suzanne, is it true? is it true? oh! why, why is there a jan meert in poictiers?"

with a wrench, just as our lips touched, she twisted herself free from my clasp.

"jan meert? gaspard, i had forgotten jan meert; in my happiness i had forgotten jan meert. he is coming, coming to-night, and i had forgotten everything but you. do not go by the door lest you meet him. by the window, gaspard, and—yes—there is father paul's cloak, take that and muffle your face. kiss me once, gaspard, and go."

the first half of her commands i obeyed, and not once only, but the second——

"when i am done with jan meert, ma mie! he owes me a life—babette's."

"babette's?"

"yes."

"and i, am i owed nothing? oh, my dear! it is not because of jan meert that i am afraid, but because of the king who stands behind him. for my sake, gaspard, yes, for love's sake——ah! what is a dead hate compared to a living love? think what i was ready to give for you. and brigitta, do you owe her nothing? she loves this jan meert even as—as—i love you."

"and justice?"

"god has all eternity for justice, yes, and all time too. i have only you and now. go for to-night."

"they will call me coward, and how could so brave a heart love a coward?"

"a coward? you? they dare not!" she answered, her pride defiant in her eyes. "it is i who am afraid."

"yet you would go to plessis?"

"for you, and all the time, coward that i am, i was horribly afraid, as i am now. go, gaspard, go for to-night."

and i went; what else could a man do but go? but not far; feeling my way along the outhouse roof i hid myself in the shadows and watched for what should happen.

closing the window behind me, suzanne returned to the table, and there the two stood talking, brigitta, i surmised, explaining much that was uncertain. it was like a living picture. by the light of the lamp i saw everything, but from where i crouched no sound reached me through the shut window. but in the midst of their talk i saw brigitta touch suzanne's arm and hold up a hand for silence. so they waited for a breath or two, their faces turned from me; then the door opened a foot, and martin backed into the room, his drawn sword pointing straight before him. this way and that the blade flashed, half hidden, half in sight, as he fenced in the narrow space till the door opened with a burst and he staggered back.

of the five men who followed him, i knew but one, and he, when i had last seen him, called himself jean volran. the corridor where i had left martin was dark, and i take it they had only then recognised him, for i saw volran's mouth open in a laugh, and shaking a hand in the air, he waved the others back; there was a certain fall in the inn of la voulle to be avenged.

but that did not please the rest. they had other ends to serve than that one of their number should satisfy a private quarrel. motioning volran to be quiet, their leader turned to the two women, who had drawn together at the window end of the table. he was a well-built fellow, fresh-faced, fair-bearded, his eyes frank and bold, his mouth stern but not unkindly; jan meert, i judged, for i had never yet seen him, and thus the king kept his word.

what passed was dumb show, but there was no excitement; the pot that had boiled so fiercely a minute before was for the moment off the fire, and simmering. one thing reassured me, brigitta seemed in no danger through the warning she had given us. it was she who did most of the answering, even laughing as if she jested, suzanne contenting herself with a shake of the head from time to time. then volran pointed to the window, threatening martin with his fist, and instantly the pot bubbled.

backward to the window sidled martin, covering himself with his point, all five pressing him. as they came nearer, the rasp of steel rang out. through the play of heads and flash of blades i saw the door open and father paul stand framed in its hollow, but only for a moment. seizing the lamp, suzanne flung it on the floor, and immediately the room was black dark.

but the rasp of steel continued, and as my sight cleared i saw martin's back, a shadow pressed almost against the tiny diamond panes. five against one for my sake, while i crouched without in safety? that was indeed to be a coward, and creeping back along the roof i flung myself through the casement, carrying with me the flimsy network of rotten wood. with a crash i was in the room, but the impulse staggered me, nullifying the gain of the surprise; worse than that, i slipped, stumbling on the broken casement. before i could recover, and while still upon my knees, a shadow from the hollow of the room sprang forward, and i saw the dull glimmer of steel as once before i had seen it in the star of flanders.

"dead or alive!" cried jean volran's voice. "the king's orders, dead or alive!"

making no effort to parry the thrust martin flung himself before me, lunging into the dark as he did so. in the same instant both strokes went home, and with a gasp he fell across me in a last effort at protection.

"one—less—monsieur gaspard—my monsieur gaspard," he whispered, gritting his teeth that he might not groan as his arms gathered me to his breast. "i did—the best—i knew—but—it is waste—waste——"

in upon us crowded those who remained. my sword was wrenched from me unused, thrice martin winced as they stabbed him, but his clasp never loosened. then they flung him aside as so much lumber, and i was dragged to my feet, pinioned fast. so we stood, one blood-drunken minute, panting in the darkness, then lights were brought, and when they saw i could by no means escape they let me stoop over martin.

martin? no, there was no more a martin. martin had followed and found the gleam, and a flicker of its glory still played in the smile on his dead face. in the end the lord god gave him his heart's desire, to die for his monsieur gaspard. "waste" was his last word, "waste! waste!" but it was not his own life he mourned for. that he gave without a grudge. but the gift seemed to him as nothing because it failed in its purpose. waste? god who has mercy on our failures forbid the thought! how can love go waste?

kissing him on the forehead, i laid him gently back upon the floor, and looking round the room, rose to my feet.

"i am ready, gentlemen."

father paul stood beside the overturned table, brigitta was on her knees lamenting over jan meert, but suzanne was nowhere to be seen.