s!" she repeated. "Why--"

"Saint-Prosper has no further interest in the marquis' sous," he said
quickly.

She gazed straight before her, calm and composed. This absence of any
exhibition of feeling reassured the attorney.

"He is--dead?" she asked quietly.

"Yes."

"How did he die?"

"Gallantly," replied the caller, now convinced she had no interest in
the matter, save that of a mere acquaintance. "His death is described
in half a column. You see he did not live in vain!"

"Was he--killed in battle?"

"In a skirmish. His company was sent to break up a band of guerilla
rancheros at Antigua. They ambushed him; he drove them out of the
thicket but fell--You have dropped your flowers. Allow me!--at the
head of his men."

"At the head of his men!" She drew in her breath.

"There passed the last of an ill-fated line," said the lawyer,
reflectively. "Poor fellow! He started with such bright prospects,
graduating from the military college with unusual honors. Ambitious,
light-hearted, he went to Africa to carve out a name in the army. But
fate was against him. The same ship that took him over carried back,
to the marquis, the story of his brother's disgrace--"

"His brother's disgrace!" she exclaimed.

Culver nodded. "He sold a French stronghold in Africa, Miss Carew."

Had the attorney been closely observing her he would have noticed the
sudden look of bewilderment that crossed her face. She stared at him
with her soul in her eyes.

"Ernest Saint-Prosper's--brother?"

The turmoil of her thoughts held her as by a spell; in the disruption
of a fixed conclusion her brain was filled with new and poignant
reflections. Unconsciously she placed a nervous hand upon his arm.

"Then Ernest Saint-Prosper who was--killed in Mexico was not the
traitor?"

"Certainly not!" exclaimed Culver, quickly, "Owing to the disgrace, I
am sure, more than to any other reason, he bade farewell to his
country--and now lies unmourned in some mountain ravine. It is true
the marquis quarreled with him, disliking not a little the young man's
republican ideas, but--my dear young lady!--you are ill?"

"No, no!" she returned, hastily, striving to maintain her self-possession.
"How--do you know this?"

"Through the marquis, himself," he replied, somewhat uneasy beneath
her steady gaze. "He told me the story in order to protect the estate
from any possible pretensions on the part of the traitor. The renegade
was reported dead, but the ma