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Runkle, Bertha, 1879-1958

"Helmet of Navarre"


"Then you will let him go, monsieur? Alack that I did not speak before!
Thank you, my cousin!"
"Of what did you suspect me? The boy was whipped for a bit of
impertinence to you; I had no cause against him."
My heart leaped up; at the same time I scorned myself for a craven that
I had been overcome by groundless terror.
"Then I have been a goose so to disturb myself," mademoiselle laughed
out in relief. "You do well to rebuke me, cousin. I shall never meddle
in your affairs again."
"That will be wise of you," Mayenne returned. "For I did mean to let the
boy go. But since you have opened his door and let him hear what he
should not, I have no choice but to silence him."
"Monsieur!" she gasped, cowering as from a blow.
"Aye," he said quietly. "I would have let him go. But you have made it
impossible."
Never have I seen so piteous a sight as her face of misery. Had my hands
been free, Mayenne had been startled to find a knife in his heart.
"Never mind, mademoiselle," I cried to her. "You came and wept over me,
and that is worth dying for."
"Monsieur," she cried, recovering herself after the first instant of
consternation, "you are degrading the greatest noble in the land! You,
the head of the house of Lorraine, the chief of the League, the
commander of the allied armies, debase yourself in stooping to take
vengeance on a stable-boy.


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