er.

"Ha, Madame," he said, "he has the will, and I've not done with you
yet--you'll see." Then, shaking a fist in Madelinette's face, he
clattered off into the darkness.

They crossed the street, and Madame Marie knocked at Fournel's door.
It was at once opened, and Madelinette announced herself. The servant
stared stonily at first, then, as she mentioned her name and he saw
her face, he suddenly became servile, and asked them into a small
waiting-room. Monsieur Fournel was at home, and should be informed at
once of Madame's arrival.

A few moments later the servant, somewhat graver, but as courteous
still, came to say that Monsieur would receive her in his library.
Madelinette turned towards Madame Marie. The servant understood.

"I shall see that the lady has refreshment," he said. "Will Madame
perhaps care for refreshment--and a mirror, before Monsieur has the
honour?--Madame has travelled far."

In spite of the anxiety of the moment and the great matters at stake,
Madelinette could not but smile. "Thank you," she said, "I hope I'm not
so unpresentable."

"A little dust here and there perhaps, Madame," he said, with humble
courtesy.

Madelinette was not so heroical as to undervalue the suggestion. Lives
perhaps were in the balance, but she was a woman, and who could tell
what slight influences might turn the scale!

The servant saw her hesitation. "If Madame will but remain here, I will
bring what is necessary," he said, and was gone. In a moment he appeared
again with a silver basin, a mirror, and a few necessaries of the
toilet.

"I suppose, Madame," said the servant, with fluttered anxiety, to show
that he knew who she was, "I suppose you have had sometimes to make
rough shifts, even in palaces."

She gave him a gold piece. It cheered her in the moment to think that in
this forbidding house, on a forbidding mission, to a forbidding man, she
had one friend. She made a hasty toilet, and but for the great paleness
of her cheeks, no traces remained of the three days' travel with their
hardship and anxiety. Presently, as the servant ushered her into the
presence of George Fournel, even the paleness was warmed a little by the
excitement of the moment.

Fournel was standing with his back to the door, looking out into the
moonlit night. As she entered he quickly drew the curtains of the
windows and turned towards his visitor, a curious, hard, disdainful look
in his face. In his hands he held a paper which