And he closed the door on them.
She had a Huguenot's hatred of a cowl; and, in this crisis, her reasons for fearing it.

Her eyes blazed with indignation.
"Enough!" she cried, pointing, with a gesture of dismissal, to the door.
"Go back to him who sent you! If he will insult me, let him do it to my face! If he will perjure himself, let him forswear himself in person.
Or, if you come on your own account," she continued, flinging prudence to the winds, "as your brethren came to Philippa de Luns, to offer me the choice you offered her, I give you her answer! If I had thought of myself only, I had not lived so long! And rather than bear your presence or hear your arguments--" She came to a sudden, odd, quavering pause on the word; her lips remained parted, she swayed an instant on her feet.

The next moment Madame Carlat, to whom the visitor had turned his shoulder, doubted her eyes, for Mademoiselle was in the monk's arms! "Clotilde! Clotilde!" he cried, and held her to him.
For the monk was M.de Tignonville! Under the cowl was the lover with whom Mademoiselle's thoughts had been engaged.

In this disguise, and armed with Tavannes' note to Madame St.Lo--which the guards below knew for Count Hannibal's hand, though they were unable to decipher the contents--he had found no difficulty in making his way to her.
He had learned before he entered that Tavannes was abroad, and was aware, therefore, that he ran little risk.

But his betrothed, who knew nothing of his adventures in the interval, saw in him one who came to her at the greatest risk, across unnumbered perils, through streets swimming with blood.