and let the small fry go. What harm will it do to my Lord Mayenne,
or you, or anybody, if you have the gentleness to let three poor
servants through to their dying mother?"

"It desolates me to hear of her extremity," the captain answered, with a
fine irony, "but I am here to do my duty. I am thinking, my dear, that
you are some great lady's maid?"

He was eying her sharply, suspiciously; she made haste to protest:

"Oh, no, monsieur; I am servant to Mme. Mesnier, the grocer's wife."

"And perhaps you serve in the shop?"

"No, monsieur," she said, not seeing his drift, but on guard against a
trap. "No, monsieur; I am never in the shop. I am far too busy with my
work. Monsieur does not seem to understand what a servant-lass has to
do."

For answer, he took her hand and lifted it to the light, revealing all
its smooth whiteness, its dainty, polished nails.

"I think mademoiselle does not understand it, either."

With a little cry, she snatched her hand from him, hiding it in the
folds of her kirtle, regarding him with open terror. He softened
somewhat at sight of her distress.

"Well, it's none of my business if a lady chooses to be masquerading
round the streets at night with a porter and a lackey. I don't know what
your purpose is--I don't ask to know. But I'm here to keep my gate, and
I'll keep it. Go try to wheedle the officer at the Porte Neuve."

In helpless obedience, glad of even so much leniency, we turned away--to
face a tall, grizzled veteran in a colonel's shoulder-straps. With a
dragoon at his back, he had come so softly out of a side alley that not
even the captain had marked him.

"What's this, Guilbert?" he demanded.

"Some folks seeking to get through the gates, sir. I've just turned them
away."

"What were you saying about the Porte Neuve?"

"I said they could go see how that gate is kept. I showed them how this
is."

"Why must you pass through at this time of night?" said the commanding
officer, civilly. Gilles once again bemoaned the dying mother. The young
captain, eager to prove his fidelity, interrupted him:

"I believe that's a fairy-tale, sir. There's something queer about these
people. The girl says she is a grocer's servant, and has hands like a
duchess's."

The colonel looked at us sharply, neither friendly nor unfriendly. He
said in a perfectly neutral manner:

"It is of no consequence whether she be a servant or a duchess--has a
mother or not. The point is whether these