ng had been mine--a wooing that precluded the
possibility of winning, and yet a wooing that had won. Aye, it had won;
but it might not take. I made fine distinctions and quaint paradoxes as
I tugged at my oars, for the human mind is a curiously complex thing,
and with some of us there is no such spur to humour as the sting of
pain.

Roxalanne sat white and very thoughtful, but with veiled eyes, so that I
might guess nothing of what passed within her mind.

At last we reached the chateau, and as I brought the boat to the terrace
steps, it was Saint-Eustache who came forward to offer his wrist to
Mademoiselle.

He noted the pallor of her face, and darted me a quick, suspicion-laden
glance. As we were walking towards the chateau--

"Monsieur de Lesperon," said he in a curious tone, "do you know that a
rumour of your death is current in the province?"

"I had hoped that such a rumour might get abroad when I disappeared," I
answered calmly.

"And you have taken no single step to contradict it?"

"Why should I, since in that rumour may be said to lie my safety?"

"Nevertheless, monsieur, voyons. Surely you might at least relieve the
anxieties the affliction, I might almost say--of those who are mourning
you."

"Ah!" said I. "And who may these be?"

He shrugged his shoulders and pursed his lips in a curiously deprecatory
smile. With a sidelong glance at Mademoiselle--

"Do you need that I name Mademoiselle de Marsac?" he sneered.

I stood still, my wits busily working, my face impassive under his
scrutinizing glance. In a flash it came to me that this must be the
writer of some of the letters Lesperon had given me, the original of the
miniature I carried.

As I was silent, I grew suddenly conscious of another pair of eyes
observing me, Mademoiselle's. She remembered what I had said, she may
have remembered how I had cried out the wish that I had met her earlier,
and she may not have been slow to find an interpretation for my words. I
could have groaned in my rage at such a misinterpretation. I could have
taken the Chevalier round to the other side of the chateau and killed
him with the greatest relish in the world. But I restrained myself, I
resigned myself to be misunderstood. What choice had I?

"Monsieur de Saint-Eustache," said I very coldly, and looking him
straight between his close-set eyes, "I have permitted you many
liberties, but there is one that I cannot permit any one--and, much as I
honour you,