She knelt before the painting of the Holy Virgin that hung upon the wall. “Holy Mother, help us save my sister from the clutches of the fiend! Mother Mary, help us save her unborn. Mother of us all, protect us! Amen!”

She rose and seated herself next to me. “Cartaphilus, what shall we do? How shall we proceed to stop this foul deed? How escape?”

“You have spoken to me of your brothers, Anne. Can we not implore their help?”

“They are strong and courageous. They would do anything for Catherine, but he will not permit them to enter his castle.”

“So great a castle must have some secret gate.”

She knit her white smooth brow. She placed her mouth to my ear, as if fearing that someone was overhearing. “There is a gate, dilapidated and hidden by bushes to the left of the field. One man can pass through it at a time. No one watches it.”

“That is good. And how many men can your brothers muster?”

“I do not know—a thousand fighting men, if needs be, who would fight to the death to save Catherine.”

“They will not have to fight once in the castle if we explain their mission to the Maréchal’s soldiers. They come on a peaceful errand.”

“On God’s own errand,” she added, looking at the Madonna.

“Have you a trusted servant who could carry our message to your brothers?”

“I think so, Cartaphilus. A young man who is in love with Madeleine, my chambermaid. He would go into the fires of hell for her and she would do as much for me.”

“Send him; but one messenger is not enough. Something may happen to him on the way. He may miscarry our orders…”

“I have a carrier pigeon, Cartaphilus—a most beautiful and intelligent bird. My mother gave us several at our departure. The monster permitted the birds to escape. One returned. He can carry a message under his wings.”

“Splendid!”

She pressed my hands, her eyes filled with tears. “Cartaphilus, the Lord Jesus has sent you to us.”

‘He will always get the credit,’ I thought.

“Cartaphilus, supposing the man loses his way and the pigeon is slain? Perhaps my brothers may not be able to come at once. They may be at war with their neighbors. What—what will become of Catherine?” Her despair heightened her loveliness.

“Then—Anne,” I said, caressing her head, “then, Cartaphilus will save her single-handed.”

She stared at me. “Single-handed?”

I nodded.

“Who are you?” she asked, breathing heavily.

“Cartaphilus, my dear,” I smiled.

“You are a messenger from Heaven, Cartaphilus. I know it.” She looked at the crucifix on the wall.

“Anne, I am betraying my friend.”

She placed her head between my knees.

“Promise me one thing, Anne.”

“Yes, Cartaphilus—anything.”

“Gilles must not be subjected to torture. He must not be abandoned to the rabble which, hound-like, tears its victims to pieces.”

“The Church can deal with her erring children, Cartaphilus,” she added. “You will recognize her beneficence and her wisdom if you accept baptism! Let my love persuade you.”

She crossed herself three times.

I raised her and with my lips I made the sign of the cross on her body.

“We might marry then, Cartaphilus, and remain together forever.”

‘The eternal woman!’

I seated her upon my knee and caressed her. She sobbed lightly. Gradually, her sobbing subsided. She placed her arms around my neck. The perfume of their pits delighted me like the deep drinking of an old wine. I laid her gently upon the bed. She offered her treasures as gracefully and as beautifully as flowers open their petals.

At dawn, she left the bed. Shivering a little from the morning chill, she returned once more. “Love me again, Cartaphilus. I have a premonition that this is our last embrace. Love me!”

“We shall meet again, Anne.”

“You will go away. Your eyes are restless. They are seeking a far-off gate.”

‘Asi-ma,’ I thought.

“How shall I live without you, Cartaphilus? How can another man’s embrace delight me after this?”

“One forgets.”

“Man forgets—but not woman—not Anne.” The sun made a lake of gold upon the bed.

“Kotikokura, you play the Devil.”

He grinned.

“Play your part well, but above all keep the mask I gave you.”

He touched his belt.

“If the brothers do not come and if I cannot dissuade him from slaughtering his lovely wife, I shall throw the powder into the air. One breath of it will paralyze all except us if we wear the masks. We can then carry the victim away and escape. Remember the sign, Kotikokura. Put your mask on and I shall do likewise, or else we shall suffer the general fate.”

Kotikokura nodded.

“Meanwhile, cause no suspicion. Obey whatever the Maréchal commands.”

LXI: WHITE MASS—BLACK MASS—BLACK PRAYER—RITES OF SATAN—BEAST OR GOD—THE SACRIFICE—THE BAPTISM OF HOMUNCULUS—JUDAS—I SEND A PRESENT TO ANNE

THE people entered, dipping their fingers into the holy water, and bending their knees before the altar. Those of rank seated themselves in the front pews, the peasants in the rear. A box in the manner of the theaters was reserved for the Maréchal and his guests of honor.

The chapel was like an enormous jewel, carved and chiseled into the shape of a room. The altar was of gold and lapis-lazuli, the pillars of red-veined marble. The walls and ceiling were frescoed with magnificent paintings.

The organ played and an invisible choir chanted a beautiful litany. The Bishop, accompanied by two priests, entered slowly. The canopy which covered them was of white silk, embroidered with gold. The Bishop held in his hand a crucifix—a mass of precious stones. Six young boys, dressed in black velvet, scattered incense from censers of jade.

The Bishop mounted the steps of the altar and knelt. He rose and with his back to the worshipers chanted short verses, at the end of which he shook a tiny gold bell. The people responded: “Ora pro nobis.” “Ora pro nobis.” The organ played a melody so low, it floated about the place like the vague perfume of a god.

The Maréchal and Catherine knelt, pressing their heads against the balustrade of the box. Anne closed her eyes. Her hand clasped mine tightly.

“They have not come, Cartaphilus,” she whispered.

“Do not fear, Anne.”

“My messenger has not returned. Do you think he has reached my brothers?”

“If not he, the pigeon.”

“I tremble lest– —”

“Fear not, I am ready.”

She knelt and in kneeling, kissed my hand.

The Bishop uncovered the ciborium. The worshipers approached one by one, in silence, took a tiny wafer—the body of Jesus—and bending their knee, left.

The music ceased. The priests removed the ciborium and the bell.

The Maréchal rose and whispered into Catherine’s ear. She rose also and bowing, said: “Whatever my lord desires.”

He kissed her forehead and descended to speak with the Bishop.

“Do not go, sister!” Anne implored. “Do not go!”

Catherine looked at her reproachfully. “Anne, is he not my husband? Should not a wife obey her husband?”

“He is a– —”

I pressed her arm. Anne stopped short.

“Catherine, in the name of our Lord Jesus, do not go today.”

“Anne, shall I be false to my vow?”

“He is false to his.”

“Do not speak thus, sister.”

The Maréchal took my arm and bade me descend the steps. “Contrasts thrill me, Cartaphilus. To go immediately from the worship of Adonai into the Temple of Lucifer, from the White Mass to the Black Mass, to pray fervently in both places!”

The steps turned in a spiral. When we reached half way, I listened intently. It seemed to me that I heard hoofbeats in the distance. But the noise died out and there was a deep silence. There was still time to dissuade him from the hideous deed he was contemplating.