rious deliberation of tread and looked
neither to the right nor to the left. The younger, following at his
elbow, was possibly Dupontel's age. In him, not the clothes alone,
but the face, keen lipped, quiet-eyed, not quite concealing its
reserves of vitality under its composure, proclaimed the American.

The men in the room, moving aside, made an avenue from the door to
the window in which, the Prince stood. The Prince came along it to
greet his guest. As they halted, face to face, Dupontel saw that the
young stranger touched the elder on the arm.

The Prince seemed to have doubts. He remembered Carigny as a slim
youth; the stranger was burly, with a bush of beard and a red face.

"It is Carigny?" inquired the Prince, hesitating.

The stranger smiled. "Yes," he answered. "Monpavon, is it not?"

Even his French had changed, become the French of a foreigner.

"You have been a long time coming for your revenge," said the Prince.
"But you are welcome always, Carigny."

He held out his hand, and again the young man touched the elder. As
if he hesitated to join hands with the Prince, Carigny gave his hand,
slowly, awkwardly; but his grip, when he had done it, was firm. They
stood, clasping hands, under the inquisitive eyes of the others.

"Since we are to play," said Carigny, "you must allow me to present
you to my son. He does not play; I have discouraged him. But he will
read my cards for me. You do not object?"

Their clasped hands fell apart. The Prince looked his
incomprehension. The young man was making him a bow of sorts.

"I am charmed," he answered. "But read your cards? I don't
understand."

Dupontel arrested an impulse to step forward, to interrupt, to
interfere in some manner. He saw that Carigny smiled.

"Yes," he answered. "Tell me which card is which, you know. You see,
Monpavon, for the last five years I have been blind!"

His voice, with its foreign accent rendering strange his precise and
old-fashioned French, continued to explain. But Dupontel did not hear
what it said. He was looking at the Prince. Save for an astonished
knitting of the brows, he had not moved; he preserved, under those
watching eyes, his attitude. The worst had come to pass the thing he
feared had ambushed him? and he was facing it. But presently he
raised his right hand, the hand that had touched Carigny's, looked at
it thoughtfully, and brushed it with his left. If he had any virtue,
he was exhibiting it now. One could de