been tempted to
believe that the whole episode was no more than the fancy of a dream. He
thrust the packet into his breast, and then moved slowly towards the
centre of the moat, tenderly cradling his precious charge. Peering
closely down at the bundle, he could dimly discern what seemed to be a
baby face among the encircling folds of silk which wrapped the child. It
was sleeping soundly; the transition from its mother's arms to the arms
of the soldier of fortune had not wakened it, and now, as Lagardere
gently rocked it in his arms, it continued to sleep.

The whimsicality of the adventure began to tickle Lagardere's fancy. He
seemed to be destined to play many parts that night. A few minutes back
he had masqueraded as a bravo to deceive the mysterious shadows. Then he
had pretended to be a husband to deceive the Duchess de Nevers. Now he
imitated a nurse in order that Nevers's child might sleep soundly. He
looked again at the quiet morsel of humanity, and his heart was stirred
with strange desires and melancholy imaginings. Raising his hand to his
hat, he uncovered solemnly and made the baby a sweeping salute.

"Mademoiselle de Nevers," he whispered, "your loyal servant salutes you!
Sleep in peace, pretty sweetheart."

Then he began to sing softly beneath his breath the burden of an old
French lullaby which he remembered from his childhood days, with its
burden of "Do, do, l'enfant do, l'enfant dormira tantot," and as he sang
the horn again sounded the same dreary, prolonged note as before, but now
more clearly, and therefore plainly nearer.

"That must be the last signal," Lagardere thought, and on the moment he
heard the sound of footsteps on the bridge, and out of the darkness
beyond a man slowly descended into the darkness of the moat. In another
instant Lagardere heard the well-known voice of Nevers calling out:
"Halloo! Is any one here?"

Lagardere advanced to meet his appointed enemy. "This way, duke!" he
cried. Then he added, reprovingly: "You would have been wiser to carry a
lantern."

Nevers moved swiftly towards him along the kind of path that Lagardere
had made in the bundle of hay, and as he came he spoke, and his tone was
menacing and imperious. "Let me feel your blade. I can kill in the
dark."

Lagardere answered him, ironically: "Gifted gentleman! But I want a talk
first."

He had scarcely finished when a flash like lightning stabbed the darkness
and came very near to stabbing him. It was the