ry.

"What! I am a prisoner, then!" she exclaimed. "How dare you lock me
in? This is not your house. Let me pass! I am tired of all this stupid
espionage."

The Prince stood with his back to the door.

"It is for your own sake, Lucille. The house is watched."

She sank into a low chair, trembling. The Prince had all the appearance
of a man himself seriously disturbed.

"Lucille," he said, "we will do what we can for you. The whole thing is
horribly unfortunate. You must leave England to-night. Muriel will go
with you. Her presence will help to divert suspicion. Once you can
reach Paris I can assure you of safety. But in this country I am almost
powerless."

"I must see Victor," she said in a low tone. "I will not go without."

The Prince nodded.

"I have thought of that. There is no reason, Lucille, why he should not
be the one to lead you into safety."

"You mean that?" she cried.

"I mean it," the Prince answered. "After what has happened you are of
course of no further use to us. I am inclined to think, too, that we
have been somewhat exacting. I will send a messenger to Souspennier to
meet you at Charing Cross to-night."

She sprang up.

"Let me write it myself."

"Very well," he agreed, with a shrug of the shoulders. "But do not
address or sign it. There is danger in any communication between you."

She took a sheet of note-paper and hastily wrote a few words.

"I have need of your help. Will you be at Charing Cross at twelve
o'clock prepared for a journey.--Lucille."

The Prince took the letter from her and hastily folded it up.

"I will deliver it myself," he announced. "It will perhaps be safest.
Until I return, Lucille, do not stir from the house or see any one.
Muriel has given the servants orders to admit no one. All your life," he
added, after a moment's pause, "you have been a little cruel to me,
and this time also. I shall pray that you will relent before our next
meeting."

She rose to her feet and looked him full in the face. She seemed to be
following out her own train of thought rather than taking note of his
words.

"Even now," she said thoughtfully, "I am not sure that I can trust you.
I have a good mind to fight or scream my way out of this house, and go
myself to see Victor."

He shrugged his shoulders.

"The fighting or the screaming will not be necessary, dear Countess," he
said. "The doors are open to you. But it is as clear as day that if
you go to the hotel or near