round to a window in the side street
under which I have often stood in the old days. She used to contrive to
be in her chamber after supper."

"But, monsieur, how long is it since you were there last?"

"I think it must be two months. I had little heart for it after my
father--So, you see, no one will be on the lookout for me to-night."

"Neither will mademoiselle," I made my point.

"I hope she may," he answered. "She will know I must see her to-night.
And I think she will be at the window."

The reasoning seemed satisfactory to him. And I thought one wet blanket
in the house was enough.

"Very well, monsieur. I am ready for anything you propose."

"Then I propose supper."

Afterward we played shovel-board, I risking the pistoles mademoiselle
had given me. I won five more, for he paid little heed to what he was
about, but was ever fidgeting over to the window to see if it was dark
enough to start. At length, when it was still between dog and wolf, he
announced that he would delay no longer.

"Very well, monsieur," I said with all alacrity.

"But you are not to come!"

"Monsieur!"

"Certainly not. I must go alone to-night."

"But, monsieur, you will need me. You will need some one to watch the
street while you speak with mademoiselle."

"I can have no listener to-night," he replied immovably.

"But I will not listen, monsieur! I shall stand out of ear-shot. But you
must have some one to give you warning should the guard set on you."

"I can manage my own affairs," he retorted haughtily; "I desire neither
your advice nor your company."

"Monsieur!" I cried, almost in tears.

"Enough!" he bade sharply. "Go send me Vigo."

I went like one in whose face the doors of heaven had shut.

Vigo came at once from the guard-room at my summons. It was on my tongue
to tell him of M. le Comte's mad resolve to fare forth alone; to beg him
to stop it. But I remembered how blameworthy I myself had held the
equery for interfering with M. Etienne, and I made up my mind that no
word of cavil at my lord should ever pass my lips. I lagged across the
court at Vigo's heels, silent.

M. Etienne was standing in the doorway.

"Vigo," he said, without a change of countenance, "get Felix a rapier,
which he can use prettily enough. I cannot take him out to-night
unarmed."

Vigo hesitated a moment, saluted, and went.

"Monsieur," I cried out, "you meant all the time to take me!"

He gazed down on my heated visage and la