ips that breathed it.

He tried to answer; he could not, for his heart beat in his
throat. But he took her two hands and crushed them together and
kissed the soft, warm palms, passive under his lips. That was
all--a touch, a glimpse of his face half lit by the lantern
swinging; and again she called, softly, "Jack, 'Tiens ta Foy!'"
And he was gone.

The distance to the Chateau de Nesville was three miles; it might
have been three feet for all Jack knew, moving through the
forest, swinging his lantern, his eyes on the dim trees towering
into the blackness overhead, his mind on Lorraine. Where the
lantern-light fell athwart rugged trunks, he saw her face; where
the tall shadows wavered and shook, her eyes met his. Her voice
was in the forest rumour, the low rustle of leafy undergrowth,
the whisper of waters flowing under silent leaves.

Already the gray wall of the park loomed up in the east, already
the gables and single turret of the Chateau grew from the shadows
and took form between the meshed branches of the trees.

The grille swung wide open, but the porter was not there. He
walked on, hastening a little, crossed the lawn by the summer
arbour, and approached the house. There was a light in the
turret, but the rest of the house was dark. As he reached the
porch and looked into the black hallway, a slight noise in the
dining-room fell upon his ear, and he opened the door and went
in. The dining-room was dark; he set his extinguished lantern on
the table and lighted a lamp by the window, saying: "Pierre, tell
the marquis I am here--tell him I am to return to Morteyn by
eleven--Pierre, do you hear me? Where are you, then?"

He raised his head instinctively, his hand on the lamp-globe.
Pierre was not there, but something moved in the darkness outside
the window, and he went to the door.

"Pierre!" he called again; and at the same instant an Uhlan
struck him with his lance-butt across the temples.

* * * * *

How long it was before he opened his eyes he could not tell. He
found himself lying on the ground in a meadow surrounded by
trees. A camp-fire flickered near, lighting the gray side of the
little stone house where the balloon was kept.

There were sounds--deep, guttural voices raised in dispute or
threats; he saw a group of shadowy men, swaying, pushing,
crowding under the trees. The firelight glimmered on a gilt
button here and there, on a sabre-hilt, on polished schapskas and
gol