he had not thought him a scoundrel when he
fastened her mask for her. She had been most easily deceived, taken in
by an absurd story.

The truth had come quickly. Richard Barrington could hardly have left
the chateau when a man whispered Lucien's name in Jeanne's ear. She did
not trouble to take this man into the chamber in the round tower, but
she led him aside where he could talk without fear of being overheard.
This was some trick, but she must hear what he had to say, her safety
to-morrow might depend upon it.

Monsieur Mercier introduced himself as a friend of Lucien's, and quickly
told his story. Lucien was in danger, grave danger, and mademoiselle
ought to know. For her Paris did not hold such danger as it did for
most aristocrats; it was well known that she had been good to the poor;
she would certainly be able to help Lucien. Mademoiselle knew Rouzet,
Lucien's servant; he had started for Beauvais taking with him a little
gold star which mademoiselle had given to Lucien. Not an hour afterwards
it was discovered that there were others, enemies, anxious to get
mademoiselle to Paris. Rouzet had been followed. Mercier, with a friend,
had immediately ridden after him, only, alas! to find him dead upon the
roadside and the star gone. They continued their journey toward
Beauvais, with only one clew to the scoundrel who had murdered and
robbed the faithful Rouzet. He was not a Frenchman. Even now Mercier did
not know his name, but he and his friend had distanced the foreigner and
his companion on the road and arrived first in Beauvais. Lodgings were
scarce owing to the ball, and Mercier had waited for the villains, had
taken them to a lodging next his own, nothing more than adjoining
cocklofts, but with this advantage, that part of the woodwork dividing
them could be easily removed. An invitation to wine (carefully drugged)
had followed, and during the night the golden star was retrieved from
the lining of the thief's coat; and lest he should discover the loss too
soon, and so hamper any plan which it was advisable to make, a rough-cut
iron star was left in its place. Here was the gold trinket, and glancing
round to make certain no one was watching, Mercier had put it into her
open hand.

This tale must be the truth. She had made no mention of Barrington, how
could this man know of the iron cross unless his tale were true? Richard
Barrington had declared he knew nothing of Lucien, but Mercier knew
everything about hi