_"
And as the boy's voice welled out, clear and thrilling as the song of
an upward pulsing lark, the tears ran down the face of Gilles de Retz.
God knows why. Perhaps it was some glint of his own innocent
childhood--some half-dimmed memory of his happily dead mother.
Perhaps--but enough. Gilles de Laval de Retz went up the turret stair
to find Poitou and Gilles de Sille on guard on either side the portals
which closed his chamber.
"Is all ready?" he asked, though the tears were scarcely dry on his
cheeks.
They bowed before him to the ground.
"All is ready, lord and master," they said as with one voice.
"And Prelati?"
"He is in waiting."
"And La Meffraye," he went on, "has she arrived?"
"La Meffraye has arrived," they said; "all goes fortunately."
"Good!" said Gilles de Retz, and shedding his furred monkish cloak
carelessly from off his shoulders, he went within.
Poitou and Gilles de Sille both reached to catch the mantle ere it
fell. As they did so their hands met and touched. And at the meeting
of each other's flesh they started and drew apart.
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