ds conferred, and the duel was arranged to take
place in a field near Dunkerque on the following morning. On the
following morning, the four men met. The combatants were placed at
fifteen paces from each other. They fired simultaneously and Castrillon
fell--mortally wounded.

CHAPTER XXIX

Brigit returned on Monday to Pensee at Curzon Street. It was the
anniversary of Lord Fitz Rewes's death. The two women went to Catesby,
where they visited his grave together, prayed together, and, in the
quiet evening, sat by the library fire.

"This is a great contrast for you after all the excitement on Saturday
night," said Pensee. "You are full of surprises, Brigit. Few young
girls, having made such a brilliant success, would care to spend their
time with poor, dull women like me. They would naturally wish to enjoy
the triumph."

Brigit's eyes filled with tears.

"I know what you mean, _cher coeur_," she answered, "but there are no
triumphs for any artist. We suffer and we work--sometimes we are able to
please. But we suffer and work because we must; whereas we please by the
merest accident."

"That is true, no doubt. One might as well speak of a successful saint
as a successful artist. Every saint is not canonized, and every artist
is not praised. But surely appreciation is a help."

"Yes, dearest; and I am grateful for it. And it gives encouragement to
one's friends!"

"Let us suppose that they had not cared for your acting, dear child.
What then?"

"I should have known that it was my vocation just the same. Don't
believe that I shan't have my full share of doubts and struggles. This
little first step makes me the more anxious about my next."

The older woman looked at her, and sighed deeply.

"You are too young to know life so well! I am sure you have suffered
more severely than any of us--who say more and cry more. Your face has
changed a good deal in the last day or two. In one way, it isn't so
pretty as it was."

"No one can look quite so plain as I can look, Pensee," she answered,
laughing.

"Let me finish what I had in my mind! You are not so pretty--not so much
like a picture. But when I see you now, I don't think about your
features at all. I watch your expressions--they suggest the whole world
to me--all the things I have thought and felt. Rachel's face is like
that. I am sure now that you were meant to be an actress. I have been
very stupid. How I wish I understood you better, and could be mor