would. "Chickens come home to roost. What do you say to that,
my lord?" to the Englishman.

This time it was not the prisoner's cheeks which reddened. Even Madame
was forced to look away, for if this reply touched the Englishman it
certainly touched her as deeply. Incidentally, she was asking herself
why she had permitted the Englishman to possess her lips, hers, which no
man save her father had ever possessed before. A kiss, that was all it
had been, yet the memory of it was persistent, annoying, embarrassing.
In the spirit of play--a spirit whose origin mystified her--she had
given the man something which she never could regain, a particle of her
pride.

Besides, this was not all; she had in that moment given up her right to
laugh at him when the time came; now she would not be able to laugh. She
regretted the folly, and bit her lip at the thought of it. Consequences
she had laughed at; now their possibilities disturbed her. She had
been guilty of an indiscretion. The fact that the Englishman had ruined
himself at her beck did not enter her mind. The hour for that had not
yet arrived.

Seeing that his neat barb had left them all without answer, Maurice
said: "Doubtless the informant who watches over your interests and
various other interests of which you have no inkling, was the late
Colonel Beauvais? For my part, I wish it was the late Beauvais in the
sense in which we refer to the departed ones. But let us give him
his true name--Prince Konrad, the last of the Walmodens, a cashiered
gamester."

Only Fitzgerald showed any surprise. Maurice once saw that the others
were in the secret. They knew the Colonel. Did they know why he was
in Bleiberg? Let them find it out for themselves. He would not lift a
finger to aid them. He leaned back and yawned.

"Pardon me," he said, with mock politeness, "but my hands are tied, and
the truth is, I am sleepy."

"Count," said Madame, "release him. He will be too well guarded to fear
his escaping."

The Colonel performed this service with alacrity. He honestly admired
the young fellow who so seldom lost his temper. Besides, he had a
sneaking idea that the lad was being unjustly accused.

Maurice got up and stretched himself. He rubbed his wrists, then sat
down and waited for the comedy to proceed.

"So you confess," said Madame, "that you sold the consols to the
archbishop?"

"I, confess?" Maurice screwed up his lips and began to whistle softly:

"Voici le sabre de mon