'Speak, madame.'
'From the King, you will convey to M. le Chevalier Hepburn, Marechal de Camp of the Scottish troops, this letter and this case, both sealed with the royal arms of France. These you will place in his hands, before Elsace-Zaberne, which he is now besieging, and which my old friend, Colonel Mulheim, a Lorrainer, is sure to defend until you reach the banks of the Sarre. These from Louis XIII.'
'And what from yourself, dearest Countess?' said I, taking her soft hands in mine and gazing earnestly, perhaps tenderly, into her fair hazel eyes.
'You know my attendant, Nicola?'
'Yes.'
'Well; as a Lorrainer, the poor girl is no longer safe in Paris; for the same edict by which Cardinal Richelieu is about to enrol fifty-two thousand men for the recapture of La Chapelle, Bohain, and Corbie, which the Spaniards have stormed from those dolts the Picards, orders the immediate arrest of all Lorrainers and Alsatians in Paris. Now poor Mademoiselle Nicola is from Nanci—which is her misfortune, but not her fault.'
'And how about yourself—your own safety?'
'Though Louis is ill—all but bedridden at present—my position is secure. Nicola is but a waiting-maid.'
'But dangerously beautiful.'
The expressive eyes of the Countess became severe and disdainful.