d to Gaston instead of
Regnard Cheverny, for Gaston is much the better man. But it is
impossible--I say, Babache, it is impossible--that Gaston Cheverny
should not shortly reappear."

When Count Saxe used the word impossible, I knew for the first time he
felt a poignant doubt and anxiety.

"And how shall Madame Cheverny be informed?" I asked.

"As Gaston Cheverny's coolness saved me from the consequences of my
own rashness--for look you, Babache, I was rash, and showed all the
qualities of a bad general in remaining here practically unguarded--it
is as little as I can do to have the news of his disappearance gently
conveyed to his wife. So, be prepared to ride for Brabant by the day
after to-morrow if nothing be heard of Gaston Cheverny by that time."

My heart leaped and then sank into an abyss. I should see Francezka,
but what news should I carry to her!

"It would be well," added Count Saxe, "that Regnard Cheverny be
formally notified of his brother's disappearance, that he may assist
in the search."

Which was done, a special messenger taking the letter to Prince
Eugene's headquarters, from whence it would be forwarded to Regnard
Cheverny.

I made my preparations next day to leave the following morning, for I
felt an inward painful conviction that nothing would be heard that day
of Gaston Cheverny. Count Saxe gave me leave to remain as many days in
Brabant as necessary, and if Francezka wished to return with me, I was
to escort her. Such was the generous nature of the man. I took with me
that last letter Gaston had written, but his other papers and
belongings I left under my master's care, hoping--but alas! not
believing--that before I returned Gaston Cheverny would have been
found. I rode hard on that journey, and on the fifth evening after
leaving Hueningen, about ten o'clock, I reached the chateau of Capello.
It had been less than a month since I had left Francezka full of hope
and joy, and I had come now to rob her of all except hope.

Although it was the fragrant time of the year, the evening was chill,
with a fine, cold rain falling. The lights were still burning in the
little yellow room where Francezka usually sat.

My knock at the great door of the chateau sounded to me like the crack
of doom. Old Peter opened the door, and by some magic of thought, he
saw at a glance that I was a messenger of evil. Without a word, he led
me to the yellow saloon, and announced in a trembling voice, which was
a w