ust! He must!" she
exclaimed, her beautiful features hardening with the earnestness of her
feelings. "And the Coadjutor cannot go. I cannot go. There is only
one man who can save him, and that is yourself. There is, above all,
not a moment to be lost."

My thoughts were in a whirl. Even as she spoke she began to walk back
the way we had come, her hand on my arm; and I, doubtful, and in a
confused way unwilling, went with her. I did not clearly understand
the position. I would have wished to go in and confer with Marie and
Croisette; but the juncture had occurred so quickly, and it might be
that time was as valuable as she said, and--well, it was hard for me, a
lad, to refuse her anything when she looked at me with appeal in her
eyes. I did manage to stammer, "But I do not know Paris. I could not
find my way, I am afraid, and it is night, Madame."

She released my arm and stopped. "Night!" she cried, with a scornful
ring in her voice. "Night! I thought you were a man, not a boy! You
are afraid!"

"Afraid," I said hotly; "we Cayluses are never afraid."

"Then I can tell you the way, if that be your only difficulty. We turn
here. Now, come in with me a moment," she continued, "and I will give
you something you will need--and your directions."

She had stopped at the door of a tall, narrow house, standing between
larger ones in a street which appeared to me to be more airy and
important than any I had yet seen. As she spoke, she rang the bell
once, twice, thrice. The silvery tinkle had scarcely died away the
third time before the door opened silently; I saw no one, but she drew
me into a narrow hall or passage. A taper in an embossed holder was
burning on a chest. She took it up, and telling me to follow her led
the way lightly up the stairs, and into a room, half-parlour,
half-bedroom--such a room as I had never seen before. It was richly
hung from ceiling to floor with blue silk, and lighted by the soft rays
of lamps shaded by Venetian globes of delicate hues. The scent of
cedar wood was in the air, and on the hearth in a velvet tray were some
tiny puppies. A dainty disorder reigned everywhere. On one table a
jewel-case stood open, on another lay some lace garments, two or three
masks and a fan. A gemmed riding-whip and a silver-hilted poniard hung
on the same peg. And, strangest of all, huddled away behind the door,
I espied a plain, black-sheathed sword, and a man's gauntlets.

She did no