Mariana the Jesuit rose, pen in hand, to embrace his “niece” as she entered his bureau. There was a laughing twinkle in his eye, and all his comfortable little pink-and-white figure shook with mirth.

“Bravo oh! bravo!” he cried, “never never did I suppose our little Valentine half so clever. Why, you turned yonder boastful cockerel outside in. Ha, they teach us something of dissimulation in our seminaries, but we are children to you, the best of us the whole Gesù might sit at your feet and take lessons. Even Philip himself were it not for semi-paternal authority! Never was the thing they call love better acted. I declare it was a great moral lesson to listen to you. You made the folly of it so apparent so abject!”

The girl was still pale. The rich glow of health, without the least colour in her cheeks, had disappeared. But the eyes of Valentine la Nina were dangerously bright.

The Jesuit proceeded, without taking note of these symptoms of disorder. He was so accustomed to use the girl’s beauty and cleverness to bait his hooks. By her father she had been vowed from infancy to the service of the Society. Her rank was known only to a few in the realm. Save on this condition of service, Philip would never have permitted her to remain in his kingdom of the Seven Spains. And, indeed, Valentine la Nina deserved well of Philip and the Gesù. She had served the Society faithfully.

For these reasons she was dear as anything in flesh and blood could be to Mariana the Jesuit. He laughed again, tasting the rare flavour of the jest.

“A rich prize indeed,” he chuckled. “The cousin of the Bearnais a candidate of the League for the crown of France. Ho, ho! Serving on the galleys as a Huguenot! You were right. There is no good fuel for Father Teruel’s bonfires he is meat for the masters of Tullio the Neapolitan and Serra his kinsman. Was there ever such sport? You do indeed deserve a province and a dower, were it not that you are too valuable where you are, aiding the Cause and me, your poor loving ‘uncle’! But what made me laugh as I listened, till the tears came into my old eyes, was to hear you you, to whom a thousand men had paid court begging for the love of that starved and terrified young braggart in his suit of silken bravery, tashed with prisons, and the fear of the Place of Eyes still white on his face!”

Then all unexpectedly Valentine la Nina spoke. Her tall figure seemed to overshadow that of her little, dimpling, winking kinsman, as the pouches under his eyes shook with merriment, while his mouth was one wreathed smile, and he pointed his beautiful, plump, white fingers together pyramidally, as if measuring one hand against the other.

“It was true,” she said point-blank, “I was not pretending. I did love him and I do!”

The dimples died out one by one on the face of the historian, Mariana of Toledo. The ripe colour faded from the cheek-bone. He glanced nervously over his shoulder with the air of a man who may be sheltering traitors under his roof-tree.

“Hush!” he whispered. “Enough now you have carried the jest far enough. It was excellent with the springald D’Albret. You played him well, like a trout on an angle. But after all we are where we are. And Teruel and Tullio are not the men to appreciate such a jest.”

“I was never farther from jesting in my life,” said Valentine la Nina; “I love him as I never thought to love man before. If he would have loved me, and forgotten that that woman I would have done for him all I said aye, and more!”

“You Valentine a king’s daughter?”

“Great good that has done me,” cried the girl; “I must not show my face. My father (if, indeed, he is my father) would so gladly get rid of me that he would present me to the Grand Turk if he thought the secret would hold water. As it is, he keeps me doing hateful work, lying and smiling, smiling and lying, like like a Jesuit!”

“Girl, you have taken leave of your senses of your judgment!” said her “uncle” severely. “Do you not see that you are sealing the doom of the man for whom you profess a feeling as foolish as sudden?”

“Neither foolish nor sudden,” retorted the girl sullenly, her hand on the back of a chair, gripping the top bar like a weapon. For a moment the little soft man with his eternal smile might have been her victim. She could have brained him with a blow the angle of that solid oaken seat crashing down upon the shining bald head which harboured so many secrets and had worked out so many plots. Valentine la Nina let the moment pass, but while it lasted she might very well have done it.

“It is not foolish,” she said, relaxing her grip for an instant. “I am a human creature with a heart that beats so many times a minute, and a skin that covers the same human needs and passions just as if I were a free and happy girl like like that spy’s daughter whom he loves. Neither is it sudden. For I saw him more than once on the hills above Collioure, when we stayed in the house of that cruel young monster Raphael Llorient. I wandered on the wastes covered with romarin and thyme why, think you? ‘A new-born passion for nature,’ you said, laughing. ‘To get away from our host, Don Raphael,’ said Livia the countess. Neither, good people! It was, because, stretched at length on a bed of juniper and lavender, in the shadow of a rock, my eyes had seen the noblest youth the gods had put upon the earth. He was asleep.”

“You are mad, girl,” cried Mariana, as loudly as he dared. “These are not the words of the Valentine I knew!”

“Surely not,” said the girl, her head thrown back, her breast forward, and breathing deep, “nor am I the Valentine I myself knew!”

“You dare to love this man you vowed to the Church and to the service of the Gesù, whose secrets you hold? You dare not!”

“I dare all,” she answered calmly. “This is not a matter of daring. It comes! It is! I did not make it. It does not go at my bidding, nor at yours. Besides, I did not bid it go. For one blessed moment I had at least the sensation of a possible happiness!”

“Nevertheless, he shamed you, rejected you, like the meanest whining lap-dog your foot spurns aside out of your path. He has done this to you Valentine la Nina, called the Most Beautiful to you, the King’s daughter an you liked, an Infanta of Spain! Have you thought of that?”

“Thought?” she said, tapping her little foot on the floor, and with her strong right hand swaying the chair to and fro like a feather “have I thought of it? What else have I done for many days and weeks? But whether he will love me or cast me off the die is thrown. I am his and not another’s. I may take revenge for that is in my blood. I may cause him to suffer as he has made me suffer and the woman also especially the woman, the spy’s daughter! But that does not alter the fact. I am his, and if he would, even when chained to the oar of the galley, a slave among slaves he could whistle me to his side like a fawning dog! For I am his slave his slave!”

The last words were spoken almost inaudibly, as if to herself.

“And to the galleys he shall go!” said the Jesuit, “you have said it, and the idea is a good one. There he will be out of mischief. Yet he can be produced, if, in the time to come, his cousin the Bearnais, arrived at the crown of France, has time to make inquiries after him!”

A knife glittered suddenly before the eyes of the Jesuit. It was in the firm white hand of the girl vowed to the Society.

“See,” she hissed, letting each word drop slowly from her lips, “see, Doctor Mariana, my uncle, you are not afraid of death I know but you do not wish to die now. There are so many things unfinished so much yet to do. I know you, uncle! Now let me take my will of this young man. Afterwards I am at your service for ever for ever more faithfully than before!”

“How can I trust you?” said the Jesuit; “to-morrow you might go mad again!”

“These things do not happen twice in a lifetime,” said Valentine la Nina, “and as for Jean d’Albret, I shall put him beyond the reach of any second chance!”

Her uncle nodded his head. He knew when a woman has the bit between her teeth, and though he had a remedy even for such cases, he judged that the present was not the time to use it.

So Valentine la Nina went out, the knife still in her hand.

The Jesuit of Toledo threw himself back on his writing-chair and wiped his brow with a handkerchief.

“Ouff!” he cried, emptying his chest with a gust of relief, “this is what it is to have to do with that wild animal, Woman! In Madrid they tame the tiger, till it takes victual from its keeper’s very hand. He is its master, almost its lover; I have seen the tiger arch its back like a cat under the caress. It sleeps with the arm of the keeper about its neck! Till one day one day the tiger that was tamed falls upon the tamer, the master, the lover, the friend! So with a woman. Have I not trained and nurtured, pruned and cared for this soul as for mine own. She was tame. She knew no will but mine. Clack! In a moment, at sight of a comely youth in a court suit asleep, as Endymion on some Latmian steep, she is wild again. Better to let her go than perish, keeping her.”

Mariana listened a while, but the chamber of his work was as far from the lugubrious noises of the den of Dom Teruel as if it had been the Place of Eyes itself. Neither could he hear any sound from the little summer parlour which had been put at the service of his niece.

The old worldly-wise smile came back upon his lips.

“It is none of my business, of course,” he murmured, “but it strikes me that the youth D’Albret had better say his prayers such, that is, as he can remember. I, for one, would not care twice to anger Valentine la Nina!”

He thought a while, and then with a grave air he added, “If I were a man of the world I would wager ten golden ounces to one, that within five minutes Master D’Albret knows more about eternity than the Holy Father himself and all his College of Cardinals. Well, better so! Then she will come back to us. She has served us well, Valentine la Nina, and now, having drunk the cup now she will serve us better than ever, or I know nothing of womankind!”

But Mariana, though he stood long with his ear glued to the crack of the door, could distinguish no sound within the summer parlour which Valentine la Nina had entered to look for the Abbe John.