She shook her head.  “I cannot go back,” she said firmly; “I cannot.”

“Then you are willing to marry him,” he cried in ignoble anger.  “That is it!  Nay, you must wish to marry him!  For, as for his conditions, Mademoiselle,” the young man continued, with an insulting laugh, “you cannot think seriously of them. He keep conditions and you in his power!  He, Count Hannibal!  But for the matter of that, and were he in the mind to keep them, what are they?  There are plenty of ministers.  I left one only this morning.  I could lay my hand on one in five minutes.  He has only to find one, therefore—­and to find me!”

“Yes, Monsieur,” she cried, trembling with wounded pride, “it is for that reason I implore you to go.  The sooner you leave me, the sooner you place yourself in a position of security, the happier for me!  Every moment that you spend here, you endanger both yourself and me!”

“If you will not be persuaded—­”

“I shall not be persuaded,” she answered firmly, “and you do but”—­alas! her pride began to break down, her voice to quiver, she looked piteously at him—­“by staying here make it harder for me to—­to—­”

“Hush!” cried Madame Carlat.  “Hush!” And as they started and turned towards her—­she was at the end of the chamber by the door, almost out of earshot—­she raised a warning hand.  “Listen!” she muttered, “some one has entered the house.”

“’Tis my messenger from Biron,” Tignonville answered sullenly.  And he drew his cowl over his face, and, hiding his hands in his sleeves, moved towards the door.  But on the threshold he turned and held out his arms.  He could not go thus.  “Mademoiselle!  Clotilde!” he cried with passion, “for the last time, listen to me, come with me.  Be persuaded!”

“Hush!” Madame Carlat interposed again, and turned a scared face on them.  “It is no messenger!  It is Tavannes himself:  I know his voice.”  And she wrung her hands. “Oh, mon Dieu, mon Dieu, what are we to do?” she continued, panic-stricken.  And she looked all ways about the room.

CHAPTER XVI.  AT CLOSE QUARTERS.

Fear leapt into Mademoiselle’s eyes, but she commanded herself.  She signed to Madame Carlat to be silent, and they listened, gazing at one another, hoping against hope that the woman was mistaken.  A long moment they waited, and some were beginning to breathe again, when the strident tones of Count Hannibal’s voice rolled up the staircase, and put an end to doubt.  Mademoiselle grasped the table and stood supporting herself by it.

“What are we to do?” she muttered.  “What are we to do?” and she turned distractedly towards the women.  The courage which had supported her in her lover’s absence had abandoned her now.  “If he finds him here I am lost!  I am lost!”

“He will not know me,” Tignonville muttered.  But he spoke uncertainly; and his gaze, shifting hither and thither, belied the boldness of his words.