s'
minds of the idea. The convention had been honorably kept. The
visitor's approach was checked by a grill, with a two-yards space
between it and the bars of the cell. Within this space a guard was
seated: it was his duty to see that nothing passed.

* * * * *

As soon as Von Kettler had been temporarily established in his new
quarters, a pretty, fair-haired young woman came along the corridor,
conducted by the Superintendent himself. She walked with dignity, her
bearing was proud, she smiled at her brother through the grill, and
there was no trace of weeping about her eyes.

She bowed with pretty formality, and Von Kettler saluted her with an
airy wave of the hand. Then they began to speak, and the German guard
who had been selected for the purpose of interpreting to the
Superintendent afterward, was baffled.

It was not German--neither was it French, Italian, or any of the
Romance languages. As a matter of fact, it was Hungarian.

Not until the half-hour was up did they lapse into English, and all
the while they might have been conversing on art, literature, or
sport. There was no hint of tragedy in this last meeting.

"Good-by, Rudy," smiled his sister, "I'll see you soon."

"To-night or to-morrow," replied Von Kettler indifferently.

The girl blew him a kiss. She seemed to detach it from her mouth and
extend it through the grill with a graceful gesture of the hand, and
Von Kettler caught it with a romantic wave of the fingers and strained
it to his heart. But it was only one of those queer foreign ways.
Nothing was passed. The alert guard, sitting under the electric light,
was sure of that.

They searched Von Kettler again after he was back in the death house.
The other cells were empty. In three of them detectives were placed.
In the yard beyond the hangman was experimenting with the trap. He
himself was under close observation. Nothing was being left to chance.

* * * * *

At seven o'clock two men collided in the death-house entrance. One was
a guard, carrying Von Kettler's last meal on a tray. He had demanded
Perigord truffles and pate de foie gras, cold lobster, endive salad,
and near-beer, and he had got them. The other was the chaplain, in a
state of visible agitation.

"If he was an atheist and mocked at me it wouldn't be so bad," the
good man declared. "I've had plenty of that kind. But he says he's not
going to be hanged. He's mad