o it turned out.

Her manner had changed to one of quiet scorn when she next spoke. 'You
defend yourself skilfully, sir,' she said, drumming with her fingers on
the table and eyeing me steadfastly. 'But can you give me any reason for
the person you name making choice of such a messenger?'

'Yes,' I answered, boldly. 'That he may not be suspected of conniving at
your escape.'

'Oh!' she cried, with a spark of her former passion. 'Then it is to be
put about that Mademoiselle de la Vire had fled from Chize with M. de
Marsac, is it? I thought that!'

'Through the assistance of M. de Marsac,' I retorted, correcting her
coldly. 'It is for you, mademoiselle,' I continued, 'to weigh that
disadvantage against the unpleasantness of remaining here. It only
remains for me to ask you to decide quickly. Time presses, and I have
stayed here too long already.'

The words had barely passed my lips when they received unwelcome
confirmation in the shape of a distant sound--the noisy closing of a
door, which, clanging through the house at such an hour--I judged it to
be after three o'clock--could scarcely mean anything but mischief.
This noise was followed immediately, even while we stood listening with
raised fingers, by other sounds--a muffled cry, and the tramp of heavy
footsteps in a distant passage. Mademoiselle looked at me, and I at her
woman. 'The door!' I muttered. 'Is it locked?'

'And bolted!' Fanchette answered; 'and a great chest set against it. Let
them ramp; they will do no harm for a bit.'

'Then you have still time, mademoiselle,' I whispered, retreating a step
and laying my hand on the curtain before the window. Perhaps I affected
greater coolness than I felt. 'It is not too late. If you choose to
remain, well and good. I cannot help it. If, on the other hand, you
decide to trust yourself to me, I swear, on the honour of a gentleman,
to be worthy of the trust--to serve you truly and protect you to the
last! I can say no more.'

She trembled, looking from me to the door, on which some one had just
begun to knock loudly. That seemed to decide her. Her lips apart, her
eyes full of excitement, she turned hastily to Fanchette.

'Ay, go if you like,' the woman answered doggedly, reading the meaning
of her look. 'There cannot be a greater villain than the one we know
of. But once started, heaven help us, for if he overtakes us we'll pay
dearly for it!'

The girl did not speak herself, but it was enough. The noise at