e to take my
first lessons in tambour work of Madame Douay?"

"Remember? Oh, my child, that awful day when you came near losing your
life! When the house fell with you in it, and--"

"Yes, yes, mamma, and I came home looking so pale you thought I was
hurt, and fainted away, and would have died yourself if I had not kissed
you back to life. Well, mamma, dear, I was hurt, but not in my body. It
was my heart that had received a wound--a wound from which I never shall
recover, for it was made by the greatness, the goodness, the noble
self-sacrifice of the marquis."

"Honora! And you never mentioned his name--never!"

"I know, I know, mamma; but you have already forgiven me for that. You
know it was from no unworthy motive. Think how you felt when you first
saw papa. Think--"

A hurried movement from the mother interrupted her.

"Do not keep me in suspense," she pleaded; "let me hear what you have to
tell."

"But you are cold; you shudder. Let me get a shawl."

"No, no, child, I am not cold, only impatient. Go on with your story--go
on. How came you to meet the marquis in that place?"

"Ah," cried the daughter, "it was a strange occurrence. It all came
about through a mistake of Cecile's. Madame Douay, as we were told by
the concierge, lived on the fourth floor, but Cecile made a miscount and
we went up to the fifth, and as there was a Madame Douay there also, we
did not detect our error, but went into her apartments and were seated
in the small salon to await madame's presence. We had not told our
errand, so we could not blame the maid who admitted us, nor, though
madame failed to appear, did we ever remember to blame any one, for
presently through the open window near which we sat there came the
sound of voices from the room above, and a drama began of such startling
interest that we could think of nothing else.

"Two men were talking. Young men they seemed, and though I could not see
them, I could tell from the fresh, fine voice of the one that he was a
true man, and from the sneering, smothered tones of the other that he
was not only a cynic, but of vicious tendencies. The first one was
saying, 'I never suspected this,' when my attention was first called to
their words, and the answer which came was as follows: 'If you had, I
should not have had the pleasure of seeing you here. Men are not apt to
rush voluntarily upon their deaths, and that you are a dead man you
already know; for I have sworn to kill you as