“Am no match for him in strength or arms,” the minister answered sadly.  “Else would I do it!  Else would I stake my life, Heaven knows, as gladly to save their lives as I sit down to meat!  But I should fail, and if I failed all were lost.  Moreover,” he continued solemnly, “I am certified that this task has been set for you.  It was not for nothing, Madame, nor to save one poor household that you were joined to this man; but to ransom all these lives and this great city.  To be the Judith of our faith, the saviour of Angers, the—­”

“Fool!  Fool!” she cried.  “Will you be silent?” And she stamped the turf passionately, while her eyes blazed in her white face.  “I am no Judith, and no madwoman as you are fain to make me.  Mad?” she continued, overwhelmed with agitation, “My God, I would I were, and I should be free from this!” And, turning, she walked a little way from him with the gesture of one under a crushing burden.

He waited a minute, two minutes, three minutes, and still she did not return.  At length she came back, her bearing more composed; she looked at him, and her eyes seized his and seemed as if they would read his soul.

“Are you sure,” she said, “of what you have told me?  Will you swear that the contents of these letters are as you say?”

“As I live,” he answered gravely.  “As God lives.”

“And you know—­of no other way, Monsieur?  Of no other way?” she repeated slowly and piteously.

“Of none, Madame, of none, I swear.”

She sighed deeply, and stood sunk in thought.  Then, “When do we reach Angers?” she asked heavily.

“The day after to-morrow.”

“I have—­until the day after to-morrow?”

“Yes.  To-night we lie near Vendome.”

“And to-morrow night?”

“Near a place called La Fleche.  It is possible,” he went on with hesitation—­for he did not understand her—­“that he may bathe to-morrow, and may hand the packet to you, as he did to-day when I vainly sought speech with you.  If he does that—­”

“Yes?” she said, her eyes on his face.

“The taking will be easy.  But when he finds you have it not”—­he faltered anew—­“it may go hard with you.”

She did not speak.

“And there, I think, I can help you.  If you will stray from the party, I will meet you and destroy the letter.  That done—­and would God it were done already—­I will take to flight as best I can, and you will raise the alarm and say that I robbed you of it!  And if you tear your dress—­”

“No,” she said.

He looked a question.

“No!” she repeated in a low voice.  “If I betray him I will not lie to him!  And no other shall pay the price!  If I ruin him it shall be between him and me, and no other shall have part in it!”

He shook his head.  “I do not know,” he murmured, “what he may do to you!”

“Nor I,” she said proudly.  “That will be for him.”