From that his mind turned back to the streets and the horrors through which he had passed; but for a moment and no more.  A shudder, an emotion of prayerful pity, and he recalled his thoughts.  In the quiet of the cool room, looking on the sunny, vine-clad court, with the tinkle of the lute and the murmurous sound of women’s voices in his ears, it was hard to believe that the things from which he had emerged were real.  It was still more unpleasant, and as futile, to dwell on them.  A day of reckoning would come, and, if La Tribe were right, the cause would rally, bristling with pikes and snorting with war-horses, and the blood spilled in this wicked city would cry aloud for vengeance.  But the hour was not yet.  He had lost his mistress, and for that atonement must be exacted.  But in the present another mistress awaited him, and as a man could only die once, and might die at any minute, so he could only live once, and in the present.  Then vogue la galere!

As he roused himself from this brief reverie and fell to wondering how long he was to be left to himself, a rosebud tossed by an unseen hand struck him on the breast and dropped to his knees.  To seize it and kiss it gallantly, to spring to his feet and look about him were instinctive movements.  But he could see no one; and, in the hope of surprising the giver, he stole to the window.  The sound of the lute and the distant tinkle of laughter persisted.  The court, save for a page, who lay asleep on a bench in the gallery, was empty.  Tignonville scanned the boy suspiciously; a male disguise was often adopted by the court ladies, and if Madame would play a prank on him, this was a thing to be reckoned with.  But a boy it seemed to be, and after a while the young man went back to his seat.

Even as he sat down, a second flower struck him more sharply in the face, and this time he darted not to the window but to the door.  He opened it quickly and looked out, but again he was too late.

“I shall catch you presently, ma reine!” he murmured tenderly, with intent to be heard.  And he closed the door.  But, wiser this time, he waited with his hand on the latch until he heard the rustling of a skirt, and saw the line of light at the foot of the door darkened by a shadow.  That moment he flung the door wide, and, clasping the wearer of the skirt in his arms, kissed her lips before she had time to resist.

Then he fell back as if he had been shot!  For the wearer of the skirt, she whom he had kissed, was Madame St. Lo’s woman, and behind her stood Madame herself, laughing, laughing, laughing with all the gay abandonment of her light little heart.

“Oh, the gallant gentleman!” she cried, and clapped her hands effusively.  “Was ever recovery so rapid?  Or triumph so speedy?  Suzanne, my child; you surpass Venus.  Your charms conquer before they are seen!”

M. de Tignonville had put poor Suzanne from him as if she burned; and hot and embarrassed, cursing his haste, he stood looking awkwardly at them.