he asked. "Would Mountstuart and Lady Mountstuart
approve?"

"Yes," I said firmly. "They would approve. You see, it is necessary."

"Then, if it's necessary--and I believe you when you say that it is," he
answered, "I'll do what I can."

What he could do and did do, was to write a personal letter to the Chief
of Police in Paris, asking as a favour that his friend, Miss Forrest, a
young lady related through marriage to the British Foreign Secretary,
should be allowed five minutes' conversation with the Englishman accused
of murder, Mr. Ivor Dundas.

I took the letter to the Chief of Police myself, to save time, and
because I was so restless and excited that I must be doing something
every instant--something which I felt might bring me nearer to Ivor.

From the Chief of Police, who proved to be a most courteous person, I
received an order to give to the governor of the gaol or prison where
they had put Ivor. This, he explained, would procure me the interview I
wanted, but unfortunately, I must not hope to see my friend alone. A
warder who understood English would have to be present.

So far I had gone into the wild venture without once thinking what it
would be to find myself suddenly face to face with Ivor in such terrible
circumstances, or what he would think of me for coming in such a way now
that we were no longer anything to each other--not even friends. But a
kind of ague-terror crept over me while I sat waiting in an ugly little
bare, stuffy reception room. My head was going round and round, my heart
was pounding so that I could not make up my mind what to say to Ivor
when he came.

Then, suddenly, I heard the sound of footsteps outside the door; and
when it opened, there stood Ivor, between two Frenchmen in blue
uniforms. One of them walked into the room with him--I suppose he must
have been a warder--but he stopped near the door, and in a second I had
forgotten all about him. He simply ceased to exist for me, when my eyes
and Ivor's had met.

I sprang up from my chair and began to talk as quickly as I could,
stammering and confused, hardly knowing what I said, but anxious to make
him understand in the beginning that I had not come to take back my
words of yesterday.

"We're all so dreadfully sorry, Mr. Dundas," I said. "I don't know if
Uncle Eric has been here yet--but he is doing all he can, and Aunt
Lilian is dreadfully upset. We're staying on in Paris on account of--on
account of this. So you see yo