last match,
and you mustn't waste any more time looking for treasure which you won't
find."

"Which I _have_ found!" I announced. "I've got something more--away at
the back of the hole. Not that you deserve to see it!"

However, I held up my hand in its torn, bloodstained glove, with two
silver pieces displayed on the palm.

"A child's hidey-hole, I suppose," he said without showing as much
interest as the occasion warranted. "Otherwise there would be something
more valuable. A young servant of the Grimaldis, perhaps; these coins
are all of the same period--of no great value as antiques, I'm afraid."

"They're of value to me," I retorted. "They'll bring me luck." I would
of course have given him one, if he hadn't been so disagreeable; but now
I felt that he shouldn't have anything of mine if he were starving.

"You are very superstitious, among other childlike qualities," he
replied, laughing. So _that_ was what he thought of me, and _that_ was
why he had called me "child"! It was all spoiled now, from the
beginning; and the guide might as well have found me, as I had said,
without _quite_ meaning it at the time.

"If you don't like lucky things, you can throw away my St. Christopher,"
I said, coldly. "You must have thought it very silly."

"I thought it extremely kind of you to give it, and I've no intention of
throwing it away, or parting with it," said he. "Now, are you ready?"

"Yes," I snapped.

In an instant he had me by the waist between two hands which felt strong
as steel buckles, and swung me up like a feather on to the first step of
the broken stairs. Then, in another second, he was at my side,
supporting me to the top without a word, except a muttered "Don't be
childish!" when I would have pushed away his arm.

Strange to say, I forgot Lady Turnour and Sir Samuel until we saw the
guide, to whom long ago Mr. Dane had called up a reassuring _"Tout va
bien!_" Then, suddenly, the awful truth sprang into my mind. All this
time they had been waiting for me! What would they say? What would they
do?

In my horror, I even forgot my righteous anger with the chauffeur. "Oh!"
I gasped. "_The Turnours!_"

Then Mr. Dane spoke kindly again. "Don't worry," he said. "It's all
right. They've gone on."

"In the car?" I cried.

"No. Sir Samuel can't drive the car. And as Lady Turnour thought she had
a chill, rather than wait for me to find you they took a carriage which
was here, and drove down to St. Remy. Th