suggested, take shelter from her. From her! No! even the
galleys--or the gallows--were better than that.

"I regret to hear it," the officer said, "since monsieur appears to be
a friend of madame la baronne. Yet, under the circumstances, monsieur
will not refuse to accompany me."

"I will accompany you."

Whatever the young fellow may have thought of the man who was now in
his custody--and what he did think was that he was some old lover of
la belle Louvigny who had either cast her off, or been cast off by
her, and had reappeared at an awkward moment, so that she had taken an
effectual manner of disposing of him--he at least did not show it. But
for her he testified his contempt in a manner that was unmistakable.
He motioned to St. Georges to precede him to the open window where his
men were, and, putting on his hat before he had quitted the room, he
strode after his prisoner without casting a glance at the woman.

But as they neared the window, and were about to step on to the path,
St. Georges stopped and, addressing him, said: "Sir, grant me one
moment's further grace, I beg of you. Ere I go I have a word to say to
madame."

Courteous as he had been all through--to him--the young fellow
shrugged his shoulders good-naturedly, raised no objection, and
lounged by the open window, while St. Georges returned to where she
still crouched upon the lounge. Yet, as she heard his footsteps
nearing her, she looked up with terror-stricken eye, and shrunk back
even further into its ample depths. The officer had not demanded his
sword, it hung still by his side; her craven heart feared that in his
last moment allowed to him he might wrench it from its sheath and
punish her for her treachery. But, as she learned a moment later, he
had a worse punishment in store for her than that.

"You have sent me to my doom," he said, gazing down on her, "yet, ere
I go, hear what has been the doom of another--as vile as you
yourself----"

In an instant she had sprung to her feet, was standing panting before
him, one hand upon her heart, the other by her side in the folds of
her dress. "Vile as she herself," he had said. "Vile as she herself!"
To whom else but De Roquemaure could such words apply when issuing
from that man's lips?

"The doom of another!" she hissed, repeating those words; "the doom of
another--of whom?"

And again on her face there was now the look--the _canine_ look--that
had been there before--the lip drawn back, the