All the loyalty of a strong nature, all the virtue of a good woman, revolted against the thought.  True, her husband—­husband she must call him—­had not deserved her love; but his bizarre magnanimity, the gloomy, disdainful kindness with which he had crowned possession, even the unity of their interests, which he had impressed upon her in so strange a fashion, claimed a return in honour.

To be paid—­how? how?  That was the crux which perplexed, which frightened, which harassed her.  For, if she told her suspicions, she exposed her lover to capture by one who had no longer a reason to be merciful.  And if she sought occasion to see Tignonville and so to dissuade him, she did it at deadly risk to herself.  Yet what other course lay open to her if she would not stand by?  If she would not play the traitor?  If she—­

“Madame,”—­it was her husband, and he spoke to her suddenly,—­“are you not well?” And, looking up guiltily, she found his eyes fixed curiously on hers.

Her face turned red and white and red again, and she faltered something and looked from him, but only to meet Madame St. Lo’s eyes.  My lady laughed softly in sheer mischief.

“What is it?” Count Hannibal asked sharply.

But Madame St. Lo’s answer was a line of Ronsard.

CHAPTER XX.  ON THE CASTLE HILL.

Thrice she hummed it, bland and smiling.  Then from the neighbouring group came an interruption.  The wine he had drunk had put it into Bigot’s head to snatch a kiss from Suzanne; and Suzanne’s modesty, which was very nice in company, obliged her to squeal.  The uproar which ensued, the men backing the man and the women the woman, brought Tavannes to his feet.  He did not speak, but a glance from his eyes was enough.  There was not one who failed to see that something was amiss with him, and a sudden silence fell on the party.

He turned to the Countess.  “You wished to see the castle?” he said.  “You had better go now, but not alone.”  He cast his eyes over the company, and summoned La Tribe, who was seated with the Carlats.  “Go with Madame,” he said curtly.  “She has a mind to climb the hill.  Bear in mind, we start at three, and do not venture out of hearing.”

“I understand, M. le Comte,” the minister answered.  He spoke quietly, but there was a strange light in his face as he turned to go with her.

None the less he was silent until Madame’s lagging feet—­for all her interest in the expedition was gone—­had borne her a hundred paces from the company.  Then—­

“Who knoweth our thoughts and forerunneth all our desires,” he murmured.  And when she turned to him, astonished, “Madame,” he continued, “I have prayed, ah, how I have prayed, for this opportunity of speaking to you!  And it has come.  I would it had come this morning, but it has come.  Do not start or look round; many eyes are on us, and, alas!  I have that to say to you which it will move you to hear, and that to ask of you which it must task your courage to perform.”