It was Count Hannibal who broke the spell and the silence, and with his hand on his brother’s shoulder stood forward.

“Nay, sire,” he cried, in a voice which rang defiant in the roof, and seemed to challenge alike the living and the dead, “if all deny the deed, yet will not I!  What we have done we have done!  So be it!  The dead are dead!  So be it!  For the rest, your Majesty has still one servant who will do your will, one soldier whose life is at your disposition!  I have said I will go, and I go, sire.  And you, churchman,” he continued, turning in bitter scorn to the priest, “do you go too—­to church!  To church, shaveling!  Go, watch and pray for us!  Fast and flog for us!  Whip those shoulders, whip them till the blood runs down!  For it is all, it seems, you will do for your King!”

Charles turned.  “Silence, railer!” he said in a broken voice.  “Sow no more troubles!  Already,” a shudder shook his tall ungainly form, “I see blood, blood, blood everywhere!  Blood?  Ah, God, shall I from this time see anything else?  But there is no turning back.  There is no undoing.  So, do you go to Biron.  And do you,” he went on, sullenly addressing Marshal Tavannes, “take him and tell him what it is needful he should know.”

“’Tis done, sire!” the Marshal cried, with a hiccough.  “Come, brother!”

But when the two, the courtiers making quick way for them, had passed down the hall to the door, the Marshal tapped Hannibal’s sleeve.

“It was touch and go,” he muttered; it was plain he had been more sober than he seemed.  “Mind you, it does not do to thwart our little master in his fits!  Remember that another time, or worse will come of it, brother.  As it is, you came out of it finely and tripped that black devil’s heels to a marvel!  But you won’t be so mad as to go to Biron?”

“Yes,” Count Hannibal answered coldly.  “I shall go.”

“Better not!  Better not!” the Marshal answered. “’Twill be easier to go in than to come out—­with a whole throat!  Have you taken wild cats in the hollow of a tree?  The young first, and then the she-cat?  Well, it will be that!  Take my advice, brother.  Have after Montgomery, if you please, ride with Nancay to Chatillon—­he is mounting now—­go where you please out of Paris, but don’t go there!  Biron hates us, hates me.  And for the King, if he do not see you for a few days, ’twill blow over in a week.”

Count Hannibal shrugged his shoulders.  “No,” he said, “I shall go.”

The Marshal stared a moment.  “Morbleu!” he said, “why?  ’Tis not to please the King, I know.  What do you think to find there, brother?”

“A minister,” Hannibal answered gently.  “I want one with life in him, and they are scarce in the open.  So I must to covert after him.”  And, twitching his sword-belt a little nearer to his hand, he passed across the court to the gate, and to his horses.