he had had no ordinary past, but I did not dream it was quite so--what
shall we call it--"

"Unsavory?" suggested her companion.

"That accounts for his unwillingness to talk about Africa," went on
Susan. "Soldiers, as a rule, you know, like to tell all about their
sanguinary exploits. But the tented field was a forbidden topic with
him. And once when I asked him about Algiers he was almost rudely
evasive."

"He probably lives in constant fear his secret will become known,"
said Mauville, thoughtfully. "As a matter of fact, the law provides
that no person is to be indicted for treason unless within three years
after the offense. The tribunal did not return an indictment; the
three years have just expired. Did he come to America to make sure of
these three years?"

But Susan's thoughts had flitted to another feature of the story.

"How strange my marquis should be connected with the case! What an old
compliment-monger he was! He vowed he was deeply smitten with me."

"And then went home and took to his bed!" added Mauville, grimly.

"You wretch!" said the young woman, playfully. "So that is the reason
the dear old molly-coddle did not take me to any of the gay suppers he
promised? Is it not strange Saint-Prosper has not met him?"

"You forget the marquis has been confined to his room since his brief,
but disastrous, courtship of you. His infatuation seems to have
brought him to the verge of dissolution."

"Was it not worth the price?" she retorted, rising. "But I see my
sister and Adonis are going, so I must be off, too. So glad to have
met you!"

"You are no longer angry with me?"

"No; you are very nice," she said. "And you have forgiven me?"

"Need you ask?" Pressing her hand. "Good evening, Mistress Susan!"

"Good evening. Oh, by the way, I have an appointment with Constance to
rehearse a little scene together this evening. Would you mind loaning
me that letter?"

"With pleasure; but remember your promise."

"Promise?" repeated the young woman.

"Not to tell."

"Oh, of course," said Susan.

"But if you shouldn't--"

"Then?"

"Then you might say the marquis, your friend and admirer, gave you
the letter. It would, perhaps, be easier for you to account for it
than for me."

"But if the marquis should learn--" began the other, half-dubiously.

"He is too ill for anything except the grave."

"Oh, the poor old dear!"

She looked at the gaming table with its indefatigable players and then