It was absurd! She was Mademoiselle de Bellecour, and he her father's secretary; educated, if you will--aye, and beyond his station--but a vassal withal, and very humbly born.

Yes, it was absurd, she told herself again: the eagle may not mate with the sparrow.
And when presently she had come from her chamber, she had been greeted with the story of a rebellion in the village, and an attempted assassination of her father.

The ringleader, she was told, had been brought to the Chateau, and he was even then in the courtyard and about to be hanged by the Marquis.

Curious to behold this unfortunate, she had stepped out on to the balcony where already an idle group had formed.
Inexpressible had been her shock upon seeing him that lay below, his white face upturned to the heavens, his eyes closed.
"Is he dead ?" she asked, when presently she had overcome her feelings.
"Not yet Mademoiselle," answered the graceful Chevalier de Jacquelin, toying with his solitaire.

"Your father is bringing him to life that he may send him back to death." And then she heard her father's voice behind her.