brielle on
the previous day, became as suddenly cautious. "I have forgotten his
name," she said, and looked as if nothing could rekindle her memory.

Gonzague affected to be busy with some of the papers that lay before him,
and then, at a venture, and as if with no particular purpose in his
thoughts, he said: "I wish I could get this Gabrielle to be your
companion, child."

Flora clapped her hands, and forgot her caution in her joy at the
prospect. "Well, that might be done. I will tell you a secret. Gabrielle
and her guardian are in Paris."

Underneath the table, and hidden from the girl's sight, Gonzague's hands
clinched tightly, as if they were clinching upon the throat of an enemy;
but his face was still quite tranquil as he said, carelessly: "Where are
they?"

Flora's voice was full of regret. "Ah! I do not know; but they were at
the fair where we were playing, and I know that they are coming to
Paris."

Gonzague rose to his feet and took both the girl's hands affectionately
in his. His eyes looked affectionately into hers, and his voice was full
of kindness. "If your friend can be found, be sure that I will find her
for you. And now go. I will send for you when the time comes for the
meeting with your mother."

Flora clasped her hands nervously. "My mother! Oh, what shall I say to
her?" she cried.

Gonzague's smile soothed her fears. "Hide nothing from her, for I am sure
you have nothing to hide. Speak the loving words that a mother would like
to hear."

With a grateful look at her newly found protector, Flora darted from the
room, and Gonzague was left alone.

XX

A CONFIDENTIAL AGENT

Gonzague was left alone, indeed, only in a sense, for on a sudden the
great hall with its famous pictures had become the theatre of fierce
emotions and menacing presences. Just at the moment when Gonzague
believed his schemes to be at their best and his fortunes to be nearing
their top, he was suddenly threatened with the renewal of the old terror
that had been kept at bay through all the years that had passed since the
night of Caylus. Through all these years Lagardere had been kept from
Paris, at the cost, indeed, as he believed, of many lives, but that was a
price Louis de Gonzague was always prepared to pay when the protection of
his own life was in question. Now it would seem as if Lagardere had
broken his exile, had forced his way through the thicket of swords, and
was again in Paris. Nor was this the