traight to the great door of the
chateau, and without knocking, opened it as if he were the master
of all there. And then, as I stood unable to move, with all my
faculties concentrated in my eyes, I saw the door of the yellow
saloon open. I saw the real Gaston Cheverny enter. I saw Francezka
turn toward the opening door. I saw the man I had supposed for
nearly two years to be Gaston Cheverny rise from his chair--and he
was, in truth, Regnard Cheverny. It was impossible to mistake one
for the other, standing together, face to face. It became a miracle
how Regnard had ever managed to deceive his whole world into
thinking him Gaston Cheverny. All the differences between them came
out and seemed to clamor for recognition. The expression of the eye
was different; the whole of the actual man in each was dissimilar; and
how this could have been covered up by the mere likeness in shape,
in voice, in feature--no one could tell.

Gaston was Gaston. He was pale and thin, and looked ten years older
than he should, but there was no mistaking him. I know not how I found
myself standing on the threshold of the room. Gaston had advanced to
the middle, and held out his arms to Francezka.

"I know all," he cried, "poor, faithful soul! For you there is an
unchanging love. There is nothing to forgive--nothing--nothing!"

Francezka stood as if turned to stone for a moment--one of those
moments in which Time seems no more. Then she moved a little
back, averting her face from Gaston, with a look, never to be
forgotten--love, shame, despair--crying aloud from her eyes. But
as Gaston spoke, she turned again, full toward him, and raised both
of her white arms.

"Dearest," she cried, in her old, sweet, penetrating voice. "I do not
ask why you did not come before. You could not--you could not come
until now!"

At that, Regnard stepped forward, and raised his hand to separate the
two.

"Wait," he said to Gaston. "She was your wife for one week. She has
been my wife nearly two years. She shall remain so. I, too, loved her
well, from my boyhood--and was it to be expected that I should let
that childish fancy for you stand between her and me, when I thought
you dead?"

I think neither Gaston nor Francezka heard him; but suddenly as a bird
flies from its perch, so Francezka flew to Gaston and rested her head
upon his breast. Not even Regnard dared to lay a sacrilegious hand
upon her there.

"I have been the most miserable woman on God's ear