“God!” he exclaimed, “it will shake the world!”

“You think so?”

“Ay, will it not!” His next words showed that he bore Tavannes’ warning in mind.  “For me, my friend, I go in mail to-night,” he said.  “There will be many a score paid before morning, besides his Majesty’s.  And many a left-handed blow will be struck in the melee!”

The other crossed himself.  “Grant none light here!” he said devoutly. 
And with a last look he nodded and went out.

In the doorway he jostled a person who was in the act of entering.  It was M. de Tignonville, who, seeing Nancay at his elbow, saluted him, and stood looking round.  The young man’s face was flushed, his eyes were bright with unwonted excitement.

“M. de Rochefoucauld?” he asked eagerly.  “He has not left yet?”

Nancay caught the thrill in his voice, and marked the young man’s flushed face and altered bearing.  He noted, too, the crumpled paper he carried half-hidden in his hand; and the Captain’s countenance grew dark.  He drew a step nearer, and his hand reached softly for his dagger.  But his voice, when he spoke, was smooth as the surface of the pleasure-loving Court, smooth as the externals of all things in Paris that summer evening.

“He is here still,” he said.  “Have you news, M. de Tignonville?”

“News?”

“For M. de Rochefoucauld?”

Tignonville laughed.  “No,” he said.  “I am here to see him to his lodging, that is all.  News, Captain?  What made you think so?”

“That which you have in your hand,” Nancay answered, his fears relieved.

The young man blushed to the roots of his hair.  “It is not for him,” he said.

“I can see that, Monsieur,” Nancay answered politely.  “He has his successes, but all the billets-doux do not go one way.”

The young man laughed, a conscious, flattered laugh.  He was handsome, with such a face as women love, but there was a lack of ease in the way he wore his Court suit.  It was a trifle finer, too, than accorded with Huguenot taste; or it looked the finer for the way he wore it, even as Teligny’s and Foucauld’s velvet capes and stiff brocades lost their richness and became but the adjuncts, fitting and graceful, of the men.  Odder still, as Tignonville laughed, half hiding and half revealing the dainty scented paper in his hand, his clothes seemed smarter and he more awkward than usual.

“It is from a lady,” he admitted.  “But a bit of badinage, I assure you, nothing more!”

“Understood!” M. de Nancay murmured politely.  “I congratulate you.”

“But—­”

“I say I congratulate you!”

“But it is nothing.”

“Oh, I understand.  And see, the King is about to rise.  Go forward, Monsieur,” he continued benevolently.  “A young man should show himself.  Besides, his Majesty likes you well,” he added, with a leer.  He had an unpleasant sense of humour, had his Majesty’s Captain of the Guard; and this evening somewhat more than ordinary on which to exercise it.