lancing at the older
man's spurs.

"I'm going to hunt up a horse; I'm tired of this eternal
tramping," replied Grahame. "Hello, is this package for me?"

"Yes, there's a cold chicken and some things, and a flask to keep
you until you find your Hohenzollern Regiment again."

Grahame rose and held out his hand. "Good-by. You've been very
kind, Marche. Will you say, for me, all that should be said to
Madame de Morteyn? Good-by once more, my dear fellow. Don't
forget me--I shall never forget you!"

"Wait," said Jack; "you are going off without a safe-conduct."

"Don't need it; there's not a French soldier in Morteyn."

"Gone?" stammered Jack--"the Emperor, General Frossard, the
army--"

"Every mother's son of them, and I must hurry--"

Their hands met again in a cordial grasp, then Grahame slipped
noiselessly into the hallway, and Jack turned to finish dressing
by the light of his clustered candles.

As he stood before the quaintly wrought mirror, fussing with
studs and buttons, he thought with a shudder of the scene of the
night before, the marquis and his murderous frenzy, the impassive
Emperor, the frantic man hurled to the polished floor, stunned,
white-cheeked, with hands slowly relaxing and fingers uncurling
from the glittering revolver.

Lorraine's father! And he had laid hands on him and had flung
him senseless at the feet of the Man of December! He could
scarcely button his collar, his fingers trembled so. Perhaps he
had killed the Marquis de Nesville. Sick at heart, he finished
dressing, buttoned his coat, flung a cap on his head, and stole
out into the darkness.

On the terrace below he saw a groom carrying a lantern, and he
went out hastily.

"Saddle Faust at once," he said. "Have the troops all gone?"

"All, monsieur; the last of the cavalry passed three hours ago;
the Emperor drove away half an hour later with Lulu--"

"Eh?"

"The prince--pardon, monsieur--they call him Lulu in Paris."

"Hurry," said Jack; "I want that horse at once."

Ten minutes later he was galloping furiously down the forest road
towards the Chateau de Nesville. The darkness was impenetrable,
so he let the horse find his own path, and gave himself up to a
profound dejection that at times amounted to blind fear. Before
his eyes he saw the pallid face of the Marquis de Nesville, he
saw the man stretched on the floor, horribly still; that was the
worst, the stillness of the body.

The sky was gray through the trees w