s, much."

She sighed again, and for a moment there was silence.

"Will you not sit, monsieur?" said she at last. She was very quiet
to-day, this little maid--very quiet and very wondrously subdued.

"There is scarce the need," I answered softly; whereupon her eyes were
raised to ask a hundred questions. "You are satisfied with my efforts,
mademoiselle?" I inquired.

"Yes, I am satisfied, monsieur."

That was the end, I told myself, and involuntarily I also sighed. Still,
I made no shift to go.

"You are satisfied that I--that I have fulfilled what I promised?"

Her eyes were again cast down, and she took a step in the direction of
the window.

"But yes. Your promise was to save my father from the scaffold. You have
done so, and I make no doubt you have done as much to reduce the term of
his banishment as lay within your power. Yes, monsieur, I am satisfied
that your promise has been well fulfilled."

Heigho! The resolve that I had formed in coming whispered it in my ear
that nothing remained but to withdraw and go my way. Yet not for all
that resolve--not for a hundred such resolves--could I have gone thus.
One kindly word, one kindly glance at least would I take to comfort me.
I would tell her in plain words of my purpose, and she should see that
there was still some good, some sense of honour in me, and thus should
esteem me after I was gone.

"Ganymede." said I.

"Monseigneur?"

"Bid the men mount."

At that she turned, wonder opening her eyes very wide, and her glance
travelled from me to Rodenard with its unspoken question. But even as
she looked at him he bowed and, turning to do my bidding, left the room.
We heard his steps pass with a jingle of spurs across the hall and out
into the courtyard. We heard his raucous voice utter a word of command,
and there was a stamping of hoofs, a cramping of harness, and all the
bustle of preparation.

"Why have you ordered your men to mount?" she asked at last.

"Because my business here is ended, and we are going."

"Going?" said she. Her eyes were lowered now, but a frown suggested
their expression to me. "Going whither?"

"Hence," I answered. "That for the moment is all that signifies." I
paused to swallow something that hindered a clear utterance. Then,
"Adieu!" said I, and I abruptly put forth my hand.

Her glance met mine fearlessly, if puzzled.

"Do you mean, monsieur, that you are leaving Lavedan--thus?"

"So that I leave, what signifies the