“Yes.”
“And that being so”
“You do not mean to carry the letters into effect?”
“Had I the letters, certainly, my friend. I should be bound by them. But I took good care to lose them,” Tavannes added naïvely. “I am no fool.”
“Umph!”
“However,” Count Hannibal continued, with an airy gesture, “that is my affair. If you, M. de Montsoreau, feel inclined, in spite of the absence of my letters, to carry yours into effect, by all means do so—after midnight of to-day.”
M. de Montsoreau breathed hard. “And why,” he asked, half sulkily and half ponderously, “after midnight only, M. le Comte?”
“Merely that I may be clear of all suspicion of having lot or part in the matter,” Count Hannibal answered pleasantly. “After midnight of to-night by all means do as you please. Until midnight, by your leave, we will be quiet.”
The Lieutenant-Governor moved doubtfully in his chair, the fear—which Tavannes had shrewdly instilled into his mind—that he might be disowned if he carried out his instructions, struggling with his avarice and his self-importance. He was rather crafty than bold; and such things had been, he knew. Little by little, and while he sat gloomily debating, the notion of dealing with one or two and holding the body of the Huguenots to ransom—a notion which, in spite of everything, was to bear good fruit for Angers—began to form in his mind. The plan suited him: it left him free to face either way, and it would fill his pockets more genteelly than would open robbery. On the other hand, he would offend his brother and the fanatical party, with whom he commonly acted. They were looking to see him assert himself. They were looking to hear him declare himself. And
