ne, unwatched, and unguarded, perhaps dream of
another.

Who was the man for whose sake she withdrew from him the heart to whose
possession he had the best and at any rate the oldest right?

Certainly not Baron Malfalconnet.

Neither could he believe it to be Peter Schlumperger or young Crafft.

Yet perhaps the fortunate man belonged to the court. If that was the
case, how easy would the game now be made for him with the girl, who was
guarded by no faithful eye!

His heart throbbed faster as he entered Red Cock Street.

The moon was still in the cloudless, starry sky, shining with her calm,
silver radiance upon one side of the street. Barbara's bow-window was
touched by it, and--what did it mean?--a small lamp must still be burning
in her room, for the window was illuminated, though but dimly. Perhaps
she had kept the light because she felt timid in her lonely chamber. Now
Wolf crossed obliquely toward his house.

Just at that moment he saw the tall figure of a man.

What was he doing there at this hour? Was it a thief or a burglar? There
was no lack of evil-disposed folk in this time of want.

Wolf still wore his court costume, and the short dress sword which
belonged to it hung in its sheath.

His heart beat quicker as he loosed the blade and advanced toward the
suspicious night-bird.

Just then he saw the other calmly turn the big key and take it out of the
door.

That could be no thief! No, certainly not!

It was a gentleman of tall stature, whose aristocratic figure and Spanish
court costume were partially covered by a long cloak.

There was no doubt! Wolf could not be mistaken, for, while the former was
putting the key in his pocket, the mantle had slipped from one shoulder.

"Malfalconnet," muttered Wolf, grasping the hilt of his short sword more
firmly.

But at the same moment the moonlight showed him the Spaniard's face. A
chill ran through his frame, followed by a feverish heat, for the
nocturnal intruder into his house was not the baron, but Quijada, the
noble Don Luis, his patron, who had just been lauding to the skies the
virtues, the beauty, the goodness of the peerless Dona Magdalena de
Ulloa, his glorious wife. He had intended to send Wolf, the friend and
housemate of his victim, to Spain to become the instructor of his
deceived wife.

He saw through the game, and it seemed as if he could not help laughing
aloud in delight at his own penetration, in rage and despair.

How clearly,