"You agree—eh? Well, listen to the names—Huguenots—Christaudins—Spawn of Geneva—whose bodies shall perish as their souls, and whose goods shall come to the righteous—that is, to me, Titi."
For a moment light seemed to come back to those sightless eyes, and with a purr, as if it understood, the great cat leaped lightly on to the table and sat before De Mouchy, whilst the latter put one finger on the tablets, and spoke again:
"Mon vieux! the poor fisherman has netted some fine gold-fish this time. No little sprats of tailors of the Rue St. Antoine or out-at-heel scholars—but fine, fat, golden carp. The pity of it, Titi, that the great ones of the land will take toll of this haul—tithe and fee; but there will be something left for you and for me—you understand?"
The cat snarled, as though it had followed every word, and De Mouchy went on, carrying out his terrible humour:
"Good! You cannot speak nor see but you can hear, and so listen! First—the Church first always, Titi—comes Odet de Coligny, Cardinal de Châtillon, Bishop of Beauvais—a traitor—a wolf who has stolen into the fold of Christ—with a hundred thousand livres a year of income!" He paused, and looked at the cat, with a snarl on his lips as evil as that on those of his familiar.
"Secondly, the High Nobility—Gaspard de Coligny, High Admiral of
France, the tallest poppy in the garden of heresy, Titi.
"Thirdly, the Law—in the person of Maître Anne du Bourg, an unjust judge; but you and I will change his judgment seat for a felon's dock, and give him a garment of red flames for his red robes of office."
The cat mewed as De Mouchy went on: "There are many more, my friend, and one in special, against whom we dare not move as yet, for he bears the lilies of France on his shield. But let us on to the sweets, for we have dined well, and need a toothsome morsel. If you could see, mon vieux, and had set eyes on her, I should have my doubts of you also, for she is as the fairy light that draws the unwary into the Pit of Death. Can you guess? No! Then I will tell you. What think you of the Demoiselle de Paradis? Yes! Hiss, hiss! Sus, sus! On to the heretics, mon brave!"
And as the cat rose on its tottering limbs, arched its back, and snarled, the man leaned back snarling also, for the blood madness was on him, and he was alone, and had let himself go utterly.
At this moment this strange scene was interrupted by a sharp, imperious knock at the door, and as De Mouchy, with a start, swung round his chair and rose to his feet the door was pushed open without further ceremony, and he saw before him the beautiful but pitiless face of Diane de Poitiers, and behind her stood Simon of Orrain.