a
little cry, inarticulate as the cry of an animal, she freed herself and
fled through the _salon_, through the hall and out upon the landing, the
door of the _appartement_ closing behind her.

CHAPTER XXXIII

The door of her _appartement_ closed behind Maxine, and she turned,
swift as a coursed hare, to the door of M. Cartel.

No hesitation touched her; she needed sanctuary; sanctuary she must
have. She opened her neighbor's door, careless of what might lie behind,
bringing with her into the quiet rooms a breath of fierce disorder.

The living-room, with its piano and its homely chairs and table, was
lighted by a common lamp; and the little Jacqueline, the only occupant,
sat in the radius of the light, peacefully sewing at a blue muslin gown
that was to adorn a Sunday excursion into the country.

At the sound of the stormy entry she merely raised her head; but at
sight of her visitor, she was on her feet in an instant, the heap of
muslin flowing in a blue cascade from her lap to the floor.

"Madame!"

"Hide me!" cried Maxine.

"Madame!"

"Lock the outer door! And if M. Blake should knock--"

Jacqueline made no further comment. When a visitor's face is blanched
and her limbs tremble as did those of Maxine, the Jacquelines of this
world neither question nor hesitate. She went across the room without a
word, and the key clicked in the lock.

Maxine was standing in the middle of the room when Jacqueline returned;
her body was still quivering, her nostrils fluttering, her fingers
twisting and intertwisting in an excess of emotion; and at sight of the
familiar little figure, words broke from her with the fierceness of a
freed torrent.

"Jacqueline! You see before you a mad woman! A mad woman--and one filled
with the fear of her madness! They say the insane are mercifully
oblivious. It is untrue!" She almost cried the last words and, turning,
began a swift pacing of the room.

"Madame!" Jacqueline caught her breath at her own daring. "Madame, you
know at last, then, that he loves you?"

Maxine stopped and her burning eyes fixed themselves upon the girl. This
speech of Jacqueline's was a breach of all their former relations, but
her brain had no room for pride. She was grappling with vital facts.

"I know at last that he loves me?" she repeated, confusedly.

"That he loves you, madame; that, unknowingly, he has always loved you.
How else could he have treated Monsieur Max so sacredly--almost as he