ntly.
"Can women prevent men from making fools of themselves any more than
they can prevent them from amusing themselves as they will? To-day it
is this toy; to-morrow, another. At length"--bitterly--"a woman comes
to consider herself only a toy."

Her companion regarded her curiously. "Well, well!" he ejaculated,
finally. "Losing at cards doesn't agree with your temper."

"Nor being worsted by Saint-Prosper with yours!" she retorted
quickly.

Mauville looked virulent, but Susan, feeling that she had retaliated
in ample measure, recovered her usual equanimity of temper and placed
a conciliatory hand sympathetically on his arm.

"We have both had a good deal to try us, haven't we? But how stupid
men are!" she added suddenly. "As if you could not find other
consolation!"

He directed toward her an inquiring glance.

"Some time ago, while I was acting in London," resumed Susan,
thoughtfully, "the leading lady refused to receive the attentions of a
certain odious English lord. She was to make her appearance in a piece
upon which her reputation was staked. Mark what happened! She was
hissed! Hissed from the stage! My lord led this hostile demonstration
and all his hired claqueurs joined in. She was ruined; ruined!"
concluded Susan, smiling amiably.

"You are ingenious, Mistress Susan--not to say a trifle diabolical.
Your plan--"

She opened her eyes widely. "I have suggested no plan," she
interrupted, hurriedly.

"Well, let us sit down and I will tell you about a French officer
who--But here is a quiet corner, Mistress Susan, and if you will
promise not to repeat it, I will regale you with a bit of interesting
gossip."

"I promise--they always do!" she laughed.

For such a frivolous lady, Susan was an excellent listener. She, who
on occasions chattered like a magpie, was now silent as a mouse,
drinking in the other's words with parted lips and sparkling eyes.
First he showed her the letter Francois had brought him. Unmarked by
postal indications, the missive had evidently been intrusted to a
private messenger of the governor whose seal it bore. Dated about
three years previously, it was written in a somewhat illegible, but
not unintelligible, scrawl, the duke's own handwriting.

"I send you, my dear marquis," began the duke, "a copy of the secret
report of the military tribunal appointed to investigate the charges
against your kinsman, Lieut. Saint-Prosper, and regret the finding of
the court should have be