anded in the huge tones of a victorious general, "is the
tyrant's empress?"

No one volunteered as to where the tyrant's empress might be. The toe of
Jacqueline's boot was indolently busy with the embers on the hearth. The
heads of both girls were in shadow.

Rodrigo's furrowed brow creased more deeply. "Which of you is she?" The
heavy syllables dropped one by one. He stepped tentatively toward
Berthe. So did Boone.

"Stand aside, senor!"

"Can't, dear brigand," said Daniel.

Then Berthe spoke. "Please, messieurs," she began, "Her Majesty is
not----"

"It's only a maidservant," Rodrigo exclaimed in chagrin.

"Don't make any difference," said Boone, "she's come a-visiting."

"If, Seigneur Brigand," spoke a clear voice, "you had not interrupted
Mademoiselle Berthe, you would stand informed by now that Her Majesty is
not here. Will you deign to close the door?"

Rodrigo knew well those bell-like tones. Forgetting the question of an
empress, he drew nearer to the lady of the rocker. She gave him no heed,
but her profile against the red glow was very soft and beautiful. His
chagrin vanished. Here was a more ravishing triumph.

"A vengeance in kind," he muttered, wetting his lips. "Ha, he took
nobody's wife, as to that; and his wife may go. But in the matter of
sweethearts--ah!"

Bending, he laid a hand caressingly on her neck, against the tendrils.

At the touch she sprang to her feet, and Boone leaped forward with fist
drawn back. But both stopped. Her face changed from fury to pallor.
Boone's expressed approval.

The room had filled through the open door with men and torches, but the
first man among them had come as far as Rodrigo's shoulder even as the
insult occurred. From behind, the man's arm had straightened under
Rodrigo's chin, and twisting to a lever, was gradually forcing back his
head. Rodrigo groped for a knife, but half way to his waist the fingers
clutched vainly in a sharp spasm, and all involuntarily flew up and
gripped at the vise under his chin. Yet another ounce of pressure, and
it seemed his neck must snap like a dry twig. Suddenly his spine bent
limp. Muscles relaxed. The whole body capitulated. Then the man behind
stooped a little, and Rodrigo began to rise. Slowly at first, and next,
as from a catapult, the brigand shot backward over the man's shoulder
and struck his length on the floor.

"No, not that, boys," said the man. "Don't kick him. Laugh at him, it
hurts more."

He spoke m