hat this beautiful
woman was nearer to him, that she was seeking him, that she believed him
to be her lover. And he realized with a pang that he, impudent in his
libertinism, had entertained with a light heart the light hope in some
audacious way to take by storm the love of this unknown woman. It had
seemed, in Paris, an insolently boyishly possible, plausible adventure;
but now, in his new knowledge and in this distant, lonely place, his
enterprise, that, after all, was little more than an impish vision,
seemed no other than a tragi-comical impertinence. All that he had known
of Gabrielle de Caylus was that she was reported fair, and that she was
loved by his enemy. All that he knew of her now was that she was his
enemy's wife, that she had a gracious voice, and that she loved his enemy
very dearly; yet this was enough for Lagardere, this, and to know that
the woman was all unconsciously trusting to his honor, to his courage, to
his truth. And it was with an unfamiliar exaltation of the spirit that
Lagardere swore to himself that the unwitting confidence of Gabrielle de
Caylus should not be misplaced, and that all his hand, his heart, his
sword could do for her service should cheerfully and faithfully be done.

Lagardere could see that she was holding something in the nature of a
bundle in her out-stretched arms. This was the child, no doubt, of whom
the masked shadow had spoken. Lagardere took the bundle cautiously in his
hands and lowered it to a secure resting-place in his left arm. Then the
Duchess de Nevers spoke again, and he saw that she was holding another
and smaller object in her hand.

"This packet," she said, "contains the papers recording our marriage,
torn from the register of the chapel. I feared they would be destroyed if
I did not save them."

As she spoke she put the packet into Lagardere's extended right hand, and
as his fingers closed upon it the horn that he had heard before was wound
again in the distance, but this time it seemed to his keen ears that the
sound was nearer than before.

The woman in the window gave a shiver. "There is much to say," she
sighed, "but no time to say it now. That may be a signal. Go, go, Louis.
I love you."

In another moment her head was drawn back into the darkness of the
apartment, the window closed, and the old castle was as silent and
obscure as before. If it were not for the bundle in his left arm and the
packet in his right hand, Lagardere might well have