turret. The door creaked noisily
as he entered, and a flight of stairs, dimly lit by candles, presented
itself, up which he ventured with his heart in his mouth. On the
first landing were two doors, one of them ajar; for a second or two
he hesitated with every nerve in his flesh pulsating and his heart
tumultuous in his breast; then hearing nothing, took his courage in his
hands and blandly entered, with his feet at a fencer's balance for the
security of his retreat if that were necessary. There was a fire glowing
in the apartment--a tempting spectacle for the shivering refugee, a dim
light burned within a glass shade upon the mantel, and a table laden
with drug-vials was drawn up to the side of a heavily-curtained bed.

Count Victor compassed the whole at a glance, and not the least pleasant
part of the spectacle was the sight of a coat--not a greatcoat, but
still a coat--upon the back of a chair that stood between the bed and
the fire.

"With a thousand apologies to his Grace," he whispered to himself, and
tiptoed in his soaking shoes across the floor without reflecting for a
second that the bed might have an occupant. He examined the coat; it had
a familiar look that might have indicated its owner even if there had
not been the flageolet lying beside it. Instinctively Count Victor
turned about and went up to the bed, where, silently peeping between the
curtains, he saw his enemy of the morning so much in a natural slumber
as it seemed that he was heartened exceedingly. Only for a moment he
looked; there was the certainty of some one returning soon to the room,
and accordingly he rapidly thrust himself into the coat and stepped back
upon the stair.

There was but one thing wanting--a sword! Why should he not have his own
back again? As he remembered the interview of the morning, the chamber
in which he had left his weapon at the bidding of the Duke was close
at hand, and probably it was still there. Each successive hazard
audaciously faced emboldened him the more; and so he ventured along,
searching amid a multitude of doors in dim rushlight till he came upon
one that was different from its neighbours only inasmuch as it had
a French motto painted across the panels. The motto read "_Revenez
bientot_," and smiling at the omen, Count Victor once more took his
valour in his fingers and turned the handle. "_Revenez bientot_" he was
whispering softly to himself as he noiselessly pushed in the door. The
sentence froze o