the
door. The girl remained silent and Baudouin presuming on this continued
in a tone still more aggressive, "Times are changed, mademoiselle,
changed in the last month. You, living out of the world, are ignorant of
what is passing, and your father is being left as completely behind.
Unless I make a mistake, in a little time you will need other and
stronger protection than his."

"Not while he lives," the girl answered, in a low tone.

Baudouin laughed. "The pitcher goes often to the well, but it is broken
at last," he said drily. "I would have you understand that, since you
may stand in need of my help, you would do well not to try me too far."

"M. Baudouin," the girl said abruptly--and her tone was changed, and the
listener, though he could not see her, could picture the challenge of
her startled eyes--"you have never spoken to me in this way before. You
have changed."

"So are the times. Those who were servants are now masters!"

"You will never be mine," the girl said firmly.

"We shall see!" he answered.

"We shall see!" cried an unexpected voice--that of the Vicomte, who
could bear it no longer. His eyes stern, his colour high, he flung the
door wide and entered. The secretary, startled, stepped back a pace. The
girl, who had been standing close to the door, turned, and seeing who it
was, uttered a low cry of thankfulness; in her relief she even stretched
out her hands as if she would grasp the new-comer's arm. The next
instant she drew back, a strange expression in her eyes.

"Now, sir," the young Vicomte continued, harshly, "you have to deal with
a man, and not with a woman whom you can terrify. I have overheard all,
and I warn you that on his return I shall repeat it word for word to M.
Mirande, who will know how to deal with you."

He expected that the threat would produce its effect, and that the
secretary taken in the act would resume his normal demeanour. But
Baudouin, his first surprise over, merely smiled. "Who are you, I
wonder," he replied grimly. "One in the Tallien-Barrere-Carnot
conspiracy, that's afoot, I suppose. If so, I need not----"

"You need suppose nothing!" the Vicomte retorted fiercely. "But leave
the room without words, you dog!"

"Thank you," said the secretary, smiling contemptuously. "But I would
have you remember that a living dog is better than a dead lion."

With that--and with little show of embarrassment or dismay--he went
out. As the door closed behind him a singul