ning to us. "Let us
hope they may die happy."

"And with a fighting chance," I added, lifting the glass without
tasting it.

D'ri sat, his brows lifted, his hands in his pockets, his legs
crossed. He looked curiously from one to another.

"Horton," said his Lordship, as he sat down, leaning lazily on the
arm of his chair, "will you have them bring down the prisoners?"

The servant left the room. Some of the men were talking together
in low tones; they were mostly good-looking and well dressed.

"Gentlemen," said his Lordship, rising suddenly, "I'm going to turn
you out of here for a moment--they're a shy lot. Won't you go into
the library?"

They all rose and went out of a door save one, a bald man of middle
age, half tipsy, who begged of his "Ludship" the privilege of
remaining.

"Sir Charles," said the young man, still lounging in his chair as
he spoke, in that cold, calm tone of his, "you annoy me. Go at
once!" and he went.

They covered our faces with napkins of white linen. Then we heard
heavy steps, the clank of scabbards on a stairway, the feet of
ladies, and the swish of their gowns. With a quick movement our
faces were uncovered. I rose to my feet, for there before me stood
Louison and the Baroness de Ferre, between two guards, and, behind
them, Louise, her eyes covered, her beautiful head bent low. I
could see that she was crying. The truth came to me in a flash of
thought. They had been taken after we left; they were prisoners
brought here to identify us. A like quickness of perception had
apparently come to all. We four stood looking at one another with
no sign of recognition. My face may have shown the surprise and
horror in me, but shortly I had recovered my stony calm. The
ladies were dressed finely, with the taste and care I had so much
admired. Louison turned away from me with a splendid dignity and
stood looking up at the wall, her hands behind her, a toe of one
shoe tapping the floor impatiently. It was a picture to remember a
lifetime. I could feel my pulse quicken as I looked upon her. The
baroness stood, sober-faced, her eyes looking down, her fan moving
slowly. His Lordship rose and came to Louise.

"Come, now, my pretty prisoner; it is disagreeable, but you must
forgive me," he said.

[Illustration: "Come, now, my pretty prisoner; it is disagreeable,
but you must forgive me."]

She turned away from him, drying her eyes. Then presently their
beauty shone upon