t of your return," answered La Pommeraye. "I had no
opportunity to tell him. He thinks you perished on the island."

"But you will tell him to-night?"

"I have been thinking of a plan," said Charles. "Would it not be well
for you to wait within the Church of the Innocents, where I am to meet
him, while I warn him of your return, and prepare him to meet you?"

Marguerite grasped at the idea. She dreaded, above all things, another
quarrel between La Pommeraye and her uncle; and her presence would be a
safeguard against bloodshed. As she prepared to accompany Charles, her
thoughts went back to that other evening--nearly five years before--when
she had been present at an encounter between these same two men. The
object she now had in view was the same--to save her uncle's life; but
the circumstances--how different! Could the veil have been lifted from
the future on that first meeting, would she not have been tempted to
leave him to the mercy of his enemy's sword? And now she was
accompanying that enemy--who had proved himself her friend when she had
no other in all the world--to keep him from avenging her wrongs upon the
man who should have been her natural protector. Her brain swam as these
thoughts crowded upon her; and she was glad to take refuge in the
dimly-lighted church, and to quiet her distracted spirit in silent
prayer before the altar.

La Pommeraye, outside, paced up and down, awaiting De Roberval's
arrival. His hand was on his sword-hilt, and his watchful eye kept a
sharp look-out on all sides; for in spite of the nobleman's parting
words to him in the afternoon, he had already had but too good reason to
suspect him of treachery.

And in fact, De Roberval had resolved within himself to add yet one more
brutal deed to the long list which had ruined his life, and changed him
from a gentleman and a man of honour to a bully, a coward, and an
assassin. La Pommeraye had returned to France. He had but to open his
lips, and De Roberval's life was at his mercy. Nor could the nobleman
recover from the stinging indignity and humiliation which Charles had
put upon him at their last meeting. From first to last, he had owed him
a bitter grudge--all the more bitter, because, in a moment of cowardice,
he had taken advantage of the noble fellow's generosity to shield
himself from defeat and dishonour. No, there was no alternative; La
Pommeraye must die; and with that death all evidence of his crimes would
be removed. He ha