ere in
Quebec!--to render common justice! . . . A lie! He had lied, then,
that mad night? There was a ringing in the Chevalier's ears and a
blurring in his eyes. He raised his clenched hands, only to drop them
limply, impotently. All these months wasted, all these longings and
regrets for nothing, all this suffering to afford Monsieur le Marquis
the momentary pleasure of seeing his own flesh and blood writhe! Hate.
As hot lead sinks into the flesh, so this word sank into the
Chevalier's soul, blotting out charity and forgiveness. Forgive? His
laughter rang out hard and sinister. Only God could forgive such a
wrong. How that wrinkled face roused the venom in his soul! Was the
marquis telling the truth? Had he lied? Was not this the culmination
of the series of tortures the marquis had inflicted upon him all these
years: to let him fly once more, only to drag him down into swallowing
mire from which he might never rise? And yet . . . if it were
true!--and the pall of shame and ignominy were lifted! The Chevalier
grew faint.

Diane! From beyond the wilderness spoke a voice, the luring voice of
love. Diane! He was free to seek her; no barrier stood between. He
could return to France. Her letter! He drew it forth, his hands
trembling like a woman's. "France is large. If you love me you will
find me. . . . I kiss your handsome grey eyes a thousand times." There
was still the delicate odor of vervain--her perfume--clinging to it.
Ah, if that terrible old man were not lying again! If he but spoke the
truth!

As he strode back and forth his foot struck something. He bent and
picked up the object. It was a grey mask with a long curtain. He
carried it to the candle-light and inspected it. A grey mask: what was
such a thing doing in Quebec? There were no masks in Quebec save those
which nature herself gave to man, that ever-changing mask called the
human face. A grey mask: what did it recall to him? Ah! Like a bar
of light the memory of it returned to him. The mysterious woman of the
Corne d'Abondance! But this mask could not be hers, since she was by
now in Spain. With a movement almost unconscious he held the silken
fabric close to his face and inhaled . . . vervain!

"Monsieur," said a soft but thrilling voice from the doorway, "will you
return to me my mask, which I dropped in this room a few moments ago?"

As he raised his head the woman stopped, transfixed.

"Diane?" leaped from the