avily in her chair; on the bed at the further end of the room lay
the man.

Then swiftly and without noise she advanced toward him, carrying the
taper which had been burning by the watcher's side in her hand, and
gazed down upon him.

He was sleeping quietly, his coat and waistcoat off--for they had
removed these in consequence of the warmth of the day, though nothing
else except his shoes--his shirt was open at the neck. If she could
turn it back an inch or two without awaking him, her question would be
answered.

Shading the lamp with one hand, with the other she touched the collar
of his discoloured shirt, her white jewelled fingers looking like
snowflakes against it and his bronzed skin; lower she pressed the
folds back until, revealed before her, was the mark burned deep into
his neck, the fatal iris with, above it, the letter _G_.

"So," she said, "the way is clear before me;" and softly, still
obscuring the light with her hand, she stole from the room quietly as
she had come.

CHAPTER XXIX.

FAREWELL HOPE!

"Madame," the waiting maid said to her the next afternoon, "the
gentleman is desirous of setting forth upon his journey again. He is
well now, he says, and he has far to ride."

"Well," said la baronne, glancing up from the lounge on which she lay
in her _salon_ and speaking in her usual cold tones, "he may go. What
is there to detain him? The surgeon says he is fit to travel, does he
not? His was but a fit from long riding in the sun."

"Yes, my lady--but----"

"But what?"

"My lady, he _is_ a gentleman--none can doubt that. He--he is desirous
to speak with you--to----"

"To speak with me?" and from her dark eyes there shot a gleam that the
woman before her did not understand. Nor did she understand why her
ladyship's colour left her face so suddenly. "To speak with me?"

"Yes, my lady. To, he says, thank you for your charity to him a
stranger--for your hospitality."

"My hospitality!" and she drew a long breath. Then, and it seemed to
the waiting maid as if her mistress had grown suddenly hoarse, "He
said that?"

"He said so, madame. He begged you would not refuse to let him make
the only return that lay in his power."

"I will not see him."

"Madame!"

"I will not see him--go--tell him so. No! Yet, stay, on further
consideration I will. Go. Bring him."

Left alone, she threw herself back once more on the cushions of her
lounge, muttering to herself: "After all," she said,