before
he ventured to address her; her air was not such as to encourage him;
her cheek was reddened and her eyes were indignant. Yet at last he
plucked up his courage.

"I trust, madame," said he, "that I may carry the fairest of answers
back with me?"

"What answer is that, sir?" she asked, half-turning to him with a
scornful glance.

"Yourself, madame, if you will so honour me," he answered, bowing. "Your
coming would be the answer best pleasing to Madame, and the best
fulfilment of my errand."

She looked at him coolly for a moment or two, and then said,

"I have sent for a gentleman who will advise me on my answer."

M. de Fontelles raised his brows, and replied somewhat stiffly,

"You are free, madame, to consult whom you will, although I had hoped
that the matter needed but little consideration."

She turned full on him in a fury.

"I thank you for your judgment of me, sir," she cried. "Or is it that
you think me a fool to be blinded by this letter?"

"Before heaven----" began the puzzled gentleman.

"I know, sir, in what esteem a woman's honour is held in your country
and at your King's Court."

"In as high, madame, as in your country and at your Court."

"Yes, that's true. God help me, that's true! But we are not at Court
now, sir. Hasn't it crossed your mind that such an errand as yours may
be dangerous?"

"I had not thought it," said he with a smile and a shrug. "But, pardon
me, I do not fear the danger."

"Neither danger nor disgrace?" she sneered.

Fontelles flushed.

"A lady, madame, may say what she pleases," he remarked with a bow.

"Oh, enough of pretences," she cried. "Shall we speak openly?"

"With all my heart, madame," said he, lost between anger and
bewilderment.

For a moment it seemed as though she would speak, but the shame of open
speech was too great for her. In his ignorance and wonder he could do
nothing to aid her.

"I won't speak of it," she said. "It's a man's part to tell you the
truth, and to ask account from you. I won't soil my lips with it."

Fontelles took a step towards her, seeking how he could assuage a fury
that he did not understand.

"As God lives----" he began gravely. Barbara would not give him
opportunity.

"I pray you," she cried, "stand aside and allow me to pass. I will not
stay longer with you. Let me pass to the door, sir. I'll send a
gentleman to speak with you."

Fontelles, deeply offended, utterly at a loss, flung the door open for