at ship it was; tell me a story to amuse me--not a
melancholy one, if you please."

I drew a chair to the blaze; the drift-wood burned gold and violet,
with scarcely a whisper of its velvet flames.

"I am afraid my story is not going to be very cheerful," I said,
"and I am also afraid that I must ask you to listen to it."

She met my eyes with composure, leaned a little toward me, and
waited.

And so, sitting there in the tinted glare, I told her of the death of
Delmont and of Tavernier, and of Buckhurst's share in the miserable
work.

I spoke in a whisper scarcely louder than the rustle of the flames,
watching the horror growing in her face.

I told her that the money she had intrusted to them for the Red Cross
was in my possession, and would be forwarded at the first chance; that
I hoped to bring Buckhurst to justice that very night.

"Madame, I am paining you," I said; "but I am going to cause you
even greater unhappiness."

"Tell me what is necessary," she said, forming the words with
tightened lips.

"Then I must tell you that it is necessary for Mademoiselle Elven to
leave Trecourt to-night."

She looked at me as though she had not heard.

"It is absolutely necessary," I repeated. "She must go secretly. She
must leave her effects; she must go in peasant's dress, on foot."

"Why?"

"It is better that I do not tell you, madame."

"Tell me. It is my right to know."

"Not now; later, if you insist."

The young Countess passed one hand over her eyes as though dazed.

"Does Sylvia know this?" she asked, in a shocked voice.

"Not yet."

"And you are going to tell her?"

"Yes, madame."

"This is dreadful," she muttered.... "If I did not know you,... if I
did not trust you so perfectly,... trust you with all my heart!... Oh,
are you certain she must go? It frightens me; it is so strange! I have
grown fond of her.... And now you say that she must go. I cannot
understand--I cannot."

"No, you cannot understand," I repeated, gently; "but she can. It is
a serious matter for Mademoiselle Elven; it could not easily be more
serious. It is even perhaps a question of life or death, madame."

"In Heaven's name, help her, then!" she said, scarcely controlling
the alarm that brought a pitiful break in her voice.

"I am trying to," I said. "And now I must consult Mademoiselle
Elven. Will you help me?"

"What can I do?" she asked, piteously.

"Stand by that window. Look, madame, can you see the lights