ld be sheer madness," he said to himself, "and yet I have no
doubt it will end in his doing so, but as he must know it is a piece of
stupendous folly, I can understand his reluctance to risk my speaking to
him on the subject. I am awfully sorry for him, but I know it is one of
those cases in which, now that it has gone as far as it has, it would be
worse than useless to try to interfere, and would only make him more
bent upon going through with it. I don't see that one can do anything
but trust to the chapter of accidents. Minette, dazzled as she might be
by the prospect of marrying a gentleman and a man of property, might
still hesitate to do so if it would entail her having to leave Paris and
live abroad.

"I have no doubt that she is very fond of Dampierre, but she may change
her mind. He may be killed before this business is over. He may decide
to return to America directly the siege ends, with the idea of coming
over to fetch her afterwards, and either he may get over his
infatuation, or on his return may find that some one else has supplanted
him in her affections. I should not fancy that constancy would be one of
her strong points; at any rate I do not see that I can do any good by
meddling in the matter, though if Dampierre spoke to me about it, I
should certainly express my opinion frankly. It is much the best that
things should go on between us as they are now doing. He is a hot-headed
beggar, and the probabilities are strong in the favor of our having a
serious quarrel if the subject were ever broached between us."

One evening Cuthbert had taken up a book after his return from the
studio, and sat reading until it was long past his usual dinner hour
before he went out. He passed through several badly lighted streets on
his way to the restaurant in the Palais Royal, where he intended to
dine. There were but few people about, for the evening was wet. He was
vaguely conscious that some one was going in the same direction as
himself, for he heard footsteps following him a short distance behind.
In one of the worst lighted and most silent streets the steps suddenly
quickened. Cuthbert turned sharply round. He was but just in time, for a
man who had been following him was on the point of springing upon him
with uplifted arm.

Cuthbert felt rather than saw that there was a knife in his hand, and
struck straight from the shoulder at his face; the fellow was in the act
of striking when he received the blow. He fell