'I seem to think,' Marianne retorted blandly, 'that it takes two to play that game – and you would find me less willing to engage in it than in this. I should, on the other hand, be very willing to see you at last remove your mask. I dislike that velvet face.'

'You would dislike what it conceals still more,' he answered harshly. 'If you must know, my pretty babe, I am disfigured. An unlucky sabre-cut at Quiberon yet, even then, I came out of that carnage alive and think myself lucky I escaped so lightly. So, let us leave my mask where it is and have our game.'

Chess had been the abbé de Chazay's passion and Marianne had played the game as long as she could remember. Patiently, in the course of endless games she had developed her sense of strategy. She played well, with a speed and boldness that could disconcert even a skilful player. But tonight, her mind was not on the game. Her eyes scarcely saw the glittering pieces touched to gold by the dancing light of the fire, her ears were so busy straining to catch all the sounds of this unfamiliar house. Gwen had disappeared as though by magic. The old woman, Soizic, had gone off with her tray. Almost at once, the sound of her wooden shoes was heard outside the kitchen window. There must be an outer door somewhere not far away leading to the barn where Jean was imprisoned. The two "lieutenants" had shuffled out with an awkward "goodnight all", and shortly afterwards the little tailor had also made his way across the kitchen, carrying his candle, on his way to whatever hole had been allotted him to sleep in.

Now that he. was no longer sitting down, Marianne saw with pity that he was a gnome-like creature with stunted legs much too short for a body whose development, apart from a tendency to be hunchbacked, was normal. He gave the players as wide a berth as possible and muttered his goodnight humbly enough but once again Marianne caught that glance of pure hatred directed towards Morvan.

Last of all, the old man in the chimney corner hobbled away, half asleep, and then the only sounds were the crackle of logs in the hearth and Morvan's rather heavy breathing. Little by little, the silence became oppressive. The mask and the angle at which his chair was placed left the wrecker's face in shadow, and Marianne had the unpleasant feeling that she was playing against a phantom; only the hands moving the pieces on the squares and violet-wood, seemed alive. It was a good hand, of almost feminine whiteness, the fingers long, perfectly formed and sensitive. Their colour apart, Marianne had seen another pair of hands like those, quite recently. They reminded her of Jason Beaufort's hands and the memory was not a pleasant one. On Morvan's however, Marianne's keen eyes were able to make out the faint mark of a star-shaped scar at the base of the third finger. She had always been fascinated by hands and by the strange, evocative power they had to conjure up a host of images. She had been fond of studying people's hands. These hands suggested something quite different from nights spent lurking in ambush on storm-lashed rocks, waiting for luckless vessels to fall into the trap – they suggested—

The hand was abruptly withdrawn and Morvan's coldly courteous tone dispelled his adversary's musings.

'Your mind is not on the game, my dear. That is my bishop you were about to move. Perhaps you are more tired than you thought? Would you rather we stopped for tonight?'

Marianne grasped at the chance he offered. She had better things to do tonight than to play chess. And so with a rueful smile she agreed that she did feel a little sleepy. Morvan rose, bowed and offered his arm.

'After such a night as you have passed, it is not surprising. I will take you to your room.


***

The fire had burned down to a red glow and the cold had crept into the long, bare room but there were new candles in the silver sconces and the bed in the carved wooden alcove had been freshly made. A long cambric shift was laid out on the coverlet. But Marianne had no thought of going to bed. She began by throwing some logs on the fire and the flames burned up, bright and clear, driving away the gloomy shadows. That done, she went straight to the window and dragged aside the ragged curtain that covered it. She found to her fury that it was firmly barred and fastened with the aid of a padlock. It seemed that Morvan left nothing to chance. A wave of depression swept over her. She would never manage to get to Jean and tomorrow would bring disaster to them both. But how was she to get out? Morvan was almost certain to have locked the door and in fact that infalliable recording device of memory was already telling her that she had heard the dry click of the key in the lock.

She went over to the door just the same, though without conviction, and lifted the latch but let it go again immediately. Someone on the other side was stealthily turning the key in the lock. Marianne drew back instinctively as, without a sound, the door swung open. The tailor's pale face loomed out of the shadows.

He put his finger quickly to his lips to still Marianne's exclamation of surprise.

'Ssh! May I come in for a moment?'

She beckoned silently, noticing that the odd little man spoke perfect French. He limped across to the panelled wall that concealed the cupboard bed and opened the doors. Then, having assured himself that they were empty, he turned back to Marianne who was watching him with astonishment.

'On the right of the barn door,' he whispered, 'you will find a hole in the wall. That is where they keep the key—'

'Thank you,' said Marianne, 'but how am I to get out of the house? Even my window is barred.'

'Yours, yes, but not the others and, in particular, not that of the room where I work. It will be a tight fit, but you are not large, and the barn is just opposite.'

There was a moment's silence. Marianne stared at the little hunchback in amazement. His small eyes were twinkling like stars and he seemed suddenly highly delighted.

'Why are you doing this?' she asked. 'You know I mean to escape – and you are putting yourself in danger.'

'Not at all. He will think that Madam Jealousy let you out. After all, who should notice a tailor – saving your presence? And for my reasons – say I like playing tricks on folk that are too cocksure – or that I have my own reasons for hating the Lord Morvan! Go, quickly—'

'Thank you again – but I owe you my freedom—'

'Not yet. I am not certain you will get away – or not unless you go alone.'

'What do you mean?'

'Nothing. You will see. But whatever happens, I will come back before daylight and lock this door, whether you have returned or not. Then, all will be safe. And, take my advice and leave that light shawl behind. Even in the dark, you could be seen.'

Letting fall the heavy lace, Marianne went quickly to one of the beds, stripped off a brown blanket and wrapped it closely round her. She was trembling with cold and excitement. She turned to Perinnaic again.

'How can I thank you for what you are doing for me?'

'Easily!' The smile on his face was replaced by a look of sudden ferocity. 'See to it that Morvan's head rolls and I shall be repaid a hundredfold!'

Marianne repressed a shudder at the twisted hatred that showed in the hunchback's face.

'I don't see how I can do that. I don't even know his face—'

'Nor I. But he is absent very often and I know he goes to Paris. There, he must surely discard his mask. Try and find out who he is – and, if you succeed in sending him to the scaffold he has eluded for so long, then know you will have avenged countless unhappy souls! Go quickly now, I have talked too much and words are perilous.'

Marianne glided swiftly out of the room. Periannaic had given her a taper in a crude holder to light her but she remembered the way to the kitchen perfectly and soon found herself in the big, still warm room. The fire was still alight and judging that this would give her light enough, Marianne put out her candle and left it on the overmantel. She made her way into the little room, climbed on the table and set about opening the window, praying to heaven that it would not creak too much. To her great relief, it opened easily. Marianne leaned out.

It was a black night and the wind was blowing strongly but her eyes soon grew accustomed to it. Immediately facing her, she was able to make out a large squat building that could only be the barn. Quickly pushing out the encumbering blanket, she wriggled her slender body through the tiny opening. It was only just big enough and she scraped herself painfully in the process but the will that drove her was stronger than the pain. Then she was standing outside. The ground was hard with frost and the grass quite dry so that her feet did not get wet, but even so it was not very warm and Marianne was glad to wrap the blanket round her again. She hurried over to the barn, her light shoes making no sound. There was no one in sight and she had little fear of meeting anyone. She knew already from the way old Soizic had grumbled at having to take the prisoner's supper out to him that the Bretons were not fond of going out after dark for fear of encountering the ghosts of the dead.

She reached the barn and felt for the key but she had to stand on tiptoe to reach the narrow crack between two stones. At last her fingers closed on the cold metal. Even then, however, it was not easy to discover the lock. Her hand shook with excitement and her heart beat as though it would leap out of her breast but when the key finally slipped into place she found that someone must have oiled the lock recently because it turned easily and without making a sound. Somehow, Marianne found herself inside, blown in with a gust of wind. She had to lean on the door with all her strength to close it. Overcome by excitement, she closed her eyes and once again had the feeling that all this was somehow unreal and absurd, as though she were playing a part.