t?"

"For innocently bringing this trouble upon you, for endangering your
head."

"Oh, that is nothing. Danger is spice to a man's palate. But will you
not remove your mask that I may look upon your face while you speak?"
There was a break in his voice. This unexpected meeting seemed to have
taken the solids from under his feet.

"You have been drinking!" with agitation.

"I have been striving to forget. But wine makes us reckless, not
forgetful." He rumpled his hair. "But will you not remove the mask?"

"Victor, you ought never to look upon my face again."

"Do you suppose that I could forget your face, a single contour or line
of it?"

"I have been so thoughtless! Forgive me! It was my hope that many
months should pass ere we met again. But fate has willed it otherwise.
I have but few words to say to you. I beg you to listen earnestly to
them. It is true that in your company I have passed many a pleasant
hour. Your wit, your gossip, your excellent verses, and your unending
gaiety dispelled many a cloud of which you knew nothing, nor shall
know. When I fled from Paris there was a moment when I believed you to
be guilty of that abominable crime. That grey cloak; I had seen you
wear it. Forgive me for doubting so brave a gentleman as yourself. I
have learned all. You never spoke of the Chevalier du Cevennes as
being your comrade in arms. That was excessive delicacy on your part.
Monsieur, our paths must part to widen indefinitely."

"How calmly you put the cold of death in my heart!" The passion in his
voice was a pain to her. Well she knew that he loved her deeply,
honestly, lastingly. "Gabrielle, you know that I love you. You are
free."

"Love?" with voice metallic. "Talk not to me of love. If I have
inspired you with an unhappy passion, forgive me, for it was done
without intent. I have played you an evil turn." She sank on one of
the benches and fumbled, with the strings of her mask.

"So: the dream vanishes; the fire becomes ashes. Is it really you,
Gabrielle? Has not the wine turned the world upside-down, brought you
here only in fancy? This night is truly some strange dream. I shall
wake to-morrow in Paris. I shall receive a note from you, bidding me
bring the latest book. The Chevalier will dine with his beautiful
unknown . . . Gabrielle, tell me that you love no one," anger and love
and despair alternately changing his voice, "yes, tell me that!"

"Victor, I love no