Had Herrick's eyes met hers? She thought so once just as she had risen from her seat, just as he stepped from the dais, his favor granted. It was a relief to be alone, to think, to try and remember and realize all that had happened. Twilight was gathering fast in the room, but she would have no lights. She could think more easily in the dark, and presently moonlight would be streaming through the window. So this was Herrick's purpose. From the first movement of his power he had been working to this end. Why had he not told her? Would she have believed him if he had? Perhaps not. He had asked her to trust him, and she had not done so. He had asked her to listen to an explanation, and she had refused to do so willingly. Ambition was his god, she had believed, and this was the end of it. Only with difficulty, by strenuous effort, had he persuaded the people to accept Maurice. He had won power, respect, love, everything, for what? to hold them in safe keeping for Maurice. Would he come to her now, now that she understood him? And then the color rushed into her cheeks at the remembrance of how she had knelt to him, and offered, yes, offered herself, and he would not bargain with her. Did he despise her? Yes, surely he must, and he had used her to bring Maurice to Vayenne to prove to her to the full how mean she had been, how really great he was. He might not come to her at all; indeed, why should he? He had humbled her, he had kept his promise and saved Felix's life, but he was not a man to gloat over her discomfiture nor to look for thanks. No, he would not come. Why should he? Maurice would tell her presently that she was no longer a prisoner, that she was free to come and go as she would; and that would be all.
The faint light of the moon was in the room now, and touched her as she leaned back in her chair, her hands lying idly in her lap. She was alone in the midst of excitement. The city was alive to-night, the news was running fast from end to end of it, and Christine could hear faintly the shouting and the tumult in the streets. There was excitement in the castle, quick footsteps constantly in the corridors, the murmur of earnest voices, and the heavy closing and opening of doors. There was noise in the court-yard, the flashing of many lights, and whenever there was a lull for a moment Christine could hear the regular pacing of the sentry along the terrace below her window.
Suddenly there came the sound of quick steps in the corridor, without, and Christine rose hurriedly to her feet. He had come. There was the rattle of a salute, the door opened, and a soldier announced:
"The Duke!"
"How's this, comrade? I know you for a good soldier, but your wits are out of gear to-night. Even in the dark you should recognize Roger Herrick from the Duke."
The door closed again. Then Herrick went toward the woman standing in the moonlight, and knelt before her.
"Mademoiselle, you accepted my service. Is it well done?"
"I have no words," she began, and in her agitation she stretched out her hand, which touched his shoulder. Perhaps it was because she had need of support that it remained pressing gently there.
"Maurice is Duke; Felix will go in safety," he said quietly; "yet my ambition remains unsatisfied. I crave your thanks. Is it well done?"
"You shall not kneel to me," she whispered.