the settlement. There was the woman and the caprice. Strange
that she had written when early that morning it had been simple to
speak. And the Indian who had given him the note knew nothing.

He entered the hut and looked carelessly around. A rude table stood at
one side. On the top of it Victor had carved his initials. The
Chevalier's eyes filled. Brave poet! Always ready with the jest,
light of heart and cheery, gentle and tender, brave as a lion, too.
Here was a man such as God intended all men to be. A beggar himself,
he gave his last crown to the beggar; undismayed, he would borrow from
his friend, paying the crown back in golden louis. How he loved the
lad! Only that morning he had romped about the mess-room like a boy
escaped from the school-room; imitated Mazarin, Uncle Gaston, the few
great councillors, and the royal actors themselves. Even the austere
visage of the Father Superior had relaxed and Du Puys had roared with
laughter. What was this sudden chill? Or was it his fancy? He
stepped into the open again, and found it warm.

"She will be here soon. It is after four. What can she have to say?"

Even as he spoke he heard a sound. It was madame, alone, and she was
hurrying along the path. A moment later and they stood together before
the threshold of the hut. There was mutual embarrassment which was
difficult to analyze. The exertion of the walk had filled her cheeks
with a color as brilliant as the bunch of maple leaves which she had
fastened at her throat. She was first to speak.

"Well, Monsieur," not over warmly, "what is it you have to say to me
which necessitates my coming so far? I believed we had not much more
to say." There was no distrust in her eyes, only a cold inquiry. "Are
you going to apologize for applying to me the term 'dishonest'?"

The joy vanished from his face, to be replaced by an anxiety which
lightened the tan on his cheeks. "Madame, it was your note which
brought me here. Read it."

"A clumsy imitation," quickly; "it is not my writing. I suppose, then,
that this is also a forgery?" handing him a note which was worded
identically the same as his own, "Some one has been playing us a sorry
trick." She was angered.

"Let us go back immediately, Madame. We stand in the midst of some
secret danger."

But even as he spoke she uttered a suppressed cry and clutched his arm.

The Chevalier saw four men advancing with drawn swords. They formed a
semicir