n some mistake," he answered glibly, "he is at home
in bed."

She smiled contemptuously into his innocent face.

"There has been a mistake," she said; "they came to arrest him
to-night."

De Casimir made a gesture of anger and seemed to be mentally assigning a
punishment to some blunderer.

"And?" he asked, without looking at her.

"And he escaped."

"For the moment?"

"No; he has left Dantzig."

Something in her voice--the cold note of warning--made him glance
uneasily at her. This was not a woman to be deceived, and yet she was
womanly enough to fear deception and to resent her own fears, visiting
her anger on any who aroused them. In the flash of an eye he understood
her, and forestalled the words that were upon her lips.

"And I promised that he should come to no harm--I know that," he said
quickly. "At first I thought that it must have been a blunder, but on
reflection I am sure that it is not. It is the Emperor. He must have
given the order for the arrest himself, behind my back. That is his way.
He trusts no one. He deceives those nearest to him. I made out the list
of those to be arrested to-night, and your father's name was not on it.
Do you believe me? Mademoiselle, do you believe me?"

It was only natural in such a man to look for disbelief. The air he
breathed was infected by suspicion. No deception was too small for the
great man whom he served. Mathilde made no answer.

"You came here to accuse me of having deceived you," he said rather
anxiously. "Is that it?"

She nodded without meeting his eyes. It was not the truth. She had
come to hear his defence, hoping against hope that she might be able to
believe him.

"Mathilde," he asked slowly, "do you believe me?"

He came a step nearer, looking down at her averted face, which was oddly
white. Then suddenly she turned, without a sound, without lifting her
eyes--and was in his arms. It seemed that she had done it against her
will, and it took him by surprise. He had thought that she was trying
to attract his love because she believed in his capability to make his
fortune like so many soldiers of France; that she was only playing a
woman's subtle game. And, after all, she was like the rest--a little
cleverer, a little colder--but, like the rest.

While his arms were still round her, his quick mind leapt forward to the
future, wondering already to what end this would lead them. For a moment
he was taken aback. He was over the last of those ba