hat
she caught because it was repeated several times--the name of Paul
Valmain. It seemed somehow to be familiar. Yes; she remembered. He
was one of Jean's friends of the _grand monde_, the man that Father
Anton had pointed out beside Monsieur and Mademoiselle Bliss in that
group with Jean on the night of the great reception.

It seemed as though hours were passing as she stood there. It seemed
to grow unbearably hot in that small, dark place; it seemed even that
it was hard to breathe. Perhaps it was her fear that was suffocating
her! She unfastened the black velvet cloak and let it hang more
loosely, wide apart, upon her shoulders--and held her hand agitatedly
upon her bare throat, that was now exposed by the low-necked blouse.
Would they never go! And what were they doing there? It was very
strange! They seemed to keep on tramping and even running around, and
there was no sound of voices now--only a most peculiar sound that made
her think of Papa Fregeau when he stood in the kitchen of the Bas Rhone
and sharpened his carving knife on his long bone-handled steel.

Then all grew suddenly quiet--and the quiet was as suddenly broken by a
voice, loud enough and distinct enough for her to hear.

"It is nothing! But a touch, monsieur--continue!"

Marie-Louise's eyes widened, and slowly her form grew rigid and tense,
and her hand at her throat slipped away and caught at the neck of her
blouse, and in a spasmodic clutch tore it wider apart. That voice--she
did not know whose it was--but there was no mistaking the cold, sullen
fury in it. And the tramping of feet had begun again--and that sound
again, the rasp of steel, was hideous now, bringing her a sickening
dread.

It was as though for a moment she were too stunned to move. They were
fighting out there in Jean's _atelier_--with--with swords. And
perhaps--perhaps it was Jean who was fighting. And if--if he should
be--no, no!--she dare not even let the thought take form in her mind.
But she must see--somehow, she must see! How dark it was, and how
those sounds brought terror now! She could not stand there and--and
think; she must see that at least it was not Jean, or else--or else she
would scream out in her agony of suspense.

She groped out with her hand for the door. She could open it very
silently, just a little way--they would be too occupied to notice it.
Her hand trembled as it fell upon the knob. She pushed the door open a
crack, an inch. T