lking?"
advancing a step.

"I had in mind what our friend, Colonel Beauvais, remarked in his recent
dispatch: I know no discrimination. The fact is, I do. I found the
dispatch on the floor this morning. Allow me to return it to you. I have
kept silent, Madame, because I did not know how to act."

"You have dared--?" her lips pressed and her eyes thunderous.

"To read it? Aye. I am a prisoner; it was in self-defense. Madame, you
do me great honor. A countess! What consideration to the indiscriminate!
Au revoir, then, till luncheon;" and he left the room, whistling--

Voici le sabre de mon pere!

CHAPTER XI. THE DENOUEMENT

At no time during the afternoon did Maurice find the opportunity to
speak privately to Fitzgerald. Madame hovered about, chatting, smiling
and humming snatches of song. She seemed to have formed a sudden
attachment for Maurice; that is to say, she could not bear to lose sight
of him, not for the briefest moment.

He swallowed his chagrin, for he could but confess that it was
sugar-coated. Madame had at last considered his case, and had labeled
him dangerous. Somehow a man always likes to be properly valued. It
re-establishes his good opinion of himself.

Well, well; however affectionate Madame might be, she could scarcely
carry it beyond the threshold of his chamber, and he was determined to
retire at an early hour. But he had many things to learn.

Fitzgerald was abandoned to the countess, who had still much color to
regain. From time to time the Englishman looked over his shoulder to see
what was going on between Madame and his friend, and so missed half of
what the countess said.

"Come," thought Maurice, "it is time I made a play."

The blackberries were ripe along the stone walls which surrounded the
chateau. Maurice wandered here and there, plucking what fruit he could
find. Now and then he would offer a branch to Madame. At length, as
though by previous arrangement with Madame, the countess led Fitzgerald
around to the other side of the chateau, so that Madame and Maurice were
alone. Immediately the smile, which had rested on her lips, vanished.
Her companion was gazing mountainward, and cogitating. How fared those
in Bleiberg?

"What a beautiful world it is!" said a low, soft voice close to his ear.

Maurice resumed his berry picking.

"What exquisite tints in the skies!" went on the voice; "what matchless
color in the forests!"

Maurice plucked a berry, ate it, and sma