sought to release him from the African
service, than by the hopelessness of his coming years as thus prefigured
before her.

"Your reproaches are unneeded," she replied, slowly and wearily. "I
could not abandon one who was once the friend of my family to such a
fate as you picture without very great pain. But I do not see how to
alter this fate, as you think I could do with so much ease. I am not in
its secret; I do not know the reason of its seeming suicide; I have no
more connection with its intricacies than you have. This gentleman has
chosen his own path; it is not for me to change his choice or spy into
his motives."

Cigarette's flashing, searching eyes bent all their brown light on her.

"Mme. Corona, you are courageous; to those who are so, all things are
possible."

"A great fallacy! You must have seen many courageous men vanquished. But
what would you imply by it?"

"That you can help this man, if you will."

"Would that I could; but I can discern no means--"

"Make them."

Even in that moment her listener smiled involuntarily at the curt,
imperious tones, decisive as Napoleon's "Partons!" before the Passage of
the Alps.

"Be certain, if I can, I will. Meantime, there is one pressing danger
of which you must be my medium to warn him. He and my brother must not
meet. Tell him that the latter, knowing him only as Louis Victor, and
interested in the incidents of his military career, will seek him out
early to-morrow morning before we quit the camp. I must leave it to him
to avoid the meeting as best he may be able."

Cigarette smiled grimly.

"You do not know much of the camp. Victor is only a bas-officier; if
his officers call him up, he must come, or be thrashed like a slave for
contumacy. He has no will of his own."

Venetia gave an irrepressible gesture of pain.

"True; I forgot. Well, go and send him to me. My brother must be taken
into his confidence, whatever that confidence reveals. I will tell him
so. Go and send him to me; it is the last chance."

Cigarette gave no movement of assent; all the jealous rage in her flared
up afresh to stifle the noble and unselfish instincts under which she
had been led during the later moments. A coarse and impudent scoff rose
to her tongue, but it remained unuttered; she could not speak it under
that glance, which held the evil in her in subjection, and compelled her
reluctant reverence against her will.

"Tell him to come here to me," repeated Venet