And Madame"--for the Provost's astonished eyes,
after resting awhile on the old soldier's iron visage, had passed to
her--"is Huguenot, so you need have no fear of her! There, speak, man,"
with impatience, "and cease to think of your own skin!"
The Provost drew a deep breath, and fixed his small eyes on Count
Hannibal.
"If I knew, my lord, what you--why, my own sister's son"--he paused, his
face began to work, his voice shook--"is a Huguenot! Ay, my lord, a
Huguenot! And they know it!" he continued, a flush of rage augmenting
the emotion which his countenance betrayed. "Ay, they know it! And they
push me on at the Council, and grin behind my back; Lescot, who was
Provost two years back, and would match his son with my daughter; and
Thuriot, who prints for the University! They nudge one another, and egg
me on, till half the city thinks it is I who would kill the Huguenots!
I!" Again his voice broke. "And my own sister's son a Huguenot! And my
girl at home white-faced for--for his sake."
Tavannes scanned the man shrewdly. "Perhaps she is of the same way of
thinking?" he said.
The Provost started, and lost one half of his colour. "God forbid!" he
cried, "saving Madame's presence! Who says so, my lord, lies!"
"Ay, lies not far from the truth.
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