ed into the corridor without. When Barrington stepped
slowly into the corridor, he found that she had quickened her pace, and
at the end of it she had paused a moment that he might see which way she
turned. He followed more quickly, and found her in a small vestibule,
part of the old chateau. A lamp was hanging from the corner of a wall,
and on an oak settle were two or three lanterns with candles in them,
such as a servant carries to guide his master or mistress on a dark
night.

"Will monsieur light one from the lamp," she said hurriedly.

"I am to wait here while you fetch mademoiselle?" he asked. "Truly this
is a secret place for delivering a message."

"Not too secret," she answered. "I am Mademoiselle St. Clair."

"You!"

The exclamation was a whispered one. A confusion of thoughts was in his
brain. Already almost unconsciously he had laid the foundations of a
dream fabric, and these were destroyed suddenly, burying him for a
moment in the collapse.

"May I see monsieur unmasked?" she said.

Mechanically he removed the mask, and she looked into his face
earnestly. She gave no sign whether she expected to recognize him, but
it would seem that his face satisfied her, for she undid her mask and
stood before him. She was a woman, and beauty must ever be the keenest
weapon in woman's armory; there was a little glad triumph in her heart
as she realized that this man bowed before her beauty. Barrington was
startled that a mask could hide so much.

"Monsieur has been somewhat misled, it would seem, by his friend who
was witty at my expense and inclined to exaggerate."

"I have been deceived, and I shall punish him for the lie," Barrington
answered.

"I am at a loss to understand the deceit," she answered. "You have a
message for me. I may find some explanation in it."

"Upon the roadside as I--" Barrington began, and then stopped.
"Mademoiselle, forgive me, but such deceit makes a man suspicious. I was
told to seek Mademoiselle St. Clair in a fat, ugly, simpering woman, and
I find her in--in you. How can I be certain that you are Mademoiselle
St. Clair?"

"I see your difficulty. Your doubt does not anger me. Let me think. Will
it help you if I speak the name Lucien?"

"It seems convincing. Heaven grant, mademoiselle, that you are as
honorable as you are beautiful. I must needs believe so and trust you.
To you I can prove that I am an honest messenger," and Barrington tore
from the lining of his coat a tin