train. I'll get into my own clothes to-morrow if you will have
a servant sew on some buttons and mend the collar. By the way, who is
eating three meals a day in the east corridor on the third floor?"

Their glances fenced. The Colonel rubbed his mustache.

"I like you," he said; "hang me if I don't. But as well as I like you,
I would not give a denier for your life if you were found in that
self-same corridor. The sentinel has orders to shoot; but don't let that
disturb you; you will know sooner or later. It is better to wait than be
shot. A horse will be saddled at six. You will find it in the court. The
countersigns are Weixel and Arnoldt. Good luck to you."

"The same to you," rejoined Maurice, "only worse."

The Colonel's departure was followed by a period of temporary
speechlessness. Maurice smoked several "Khedives," while Fitzgerald
emptied two or three pipe-bowls.

"You seem to be in bad odor, Maurice," the latter ventured.

"In more ways than one. Where, in heaven's name, did you resurrect that
pipe?"

"In the stables. It isn't the pipe, it's the tobacco. I had to break up
some cigars."

Then came another period in the conversation. It occurred to both that
something yawned between them--a kind of abyss. Out of this abyss one
saw his guilt arise.... A woman stood at his side. He had an accomplice.
He had thrown the die, and he would stand stubbornly to it. His pride
built yet another wall around him, impregnable either to protests or to
sneers. He loved--that was recompense enough. A man will forgive himself
of grave sins when these are debtors to his love.

As for the other, he beheld a trust betrayed, and he was powerless to
prevent it. Besides, his self-love smarted, chagrin made eyes at him;
and, more than all else, he recognized his own share in the Englishman's
fall from grace. It had been innocent mischief on his part, true, but
nevertheless he stood culpable. He had no business to talk to a woman he
did not know. The more he studied the aspects of the situation the more
whimsical it grew. He was the prime cause of a king losing his throne,
of a man losing his honor, of a princess becoming an outcast.

"Your bride-elect," he said, "seems somewhat over-hasty. Well, I'm off
to bed."

"Maurice, can you blame me?"

"No, John; whom the gods destroy they first make mad. You will come to
your senses when it is too late."

"For God's sake, Maurice, who is she?"

"What will you do if she breaks h