entative of theirs in England to look after the
interests of French subjects over here!"

"Yes?"

"They have realised over in Paris that my life here has been devoted to
the welfare of the poor people of France. The representative whom the
government has sent to England is specially interested in me and in
my work. He is a stand-by for me in case of trouble... in case of
insults... A woman alone is oft subject to those, even at the hands of
so-called gentlemen... and the official representative of my own country
becomes in such cases my most natural protector."

"I understand."

"You will receive him?"

"Certainly."

"Then may I present him to your ladyship?"

"Whenever you like."

"Now, and it please you."

"Now?"

"Yes. Here he comes, at your ladyship's service."

Desiree Candeille's almond-shaped eyes were fixed upon a distant part of
the tent, behind Lady Blakeney in the direction of the main entrance
to the booth. There was a slight pause after she had spoken and
then Marguerite slowly turned in order to see who this official
representative of France was, whom at the young actress' request she had
just agreed to receive in her house. In the doorway of the tent, framed
by its gaudy draperies, and with the streaming sunshine as a brilliant
background behind him, stood the sable-clad figure of Chauvelin.

Chapter VII: Premonition

Marguerite neither moved nor spoke. She felt two pairs of eyes fixed
upon her, and with all the strength of will at her command she forced
the very blood in her veins not to quit her cheeks, forced her eyelids
not to betray by a single quiver the icy pang of a deadly premonition
which at sight of Chauvelin seemed to have chilled her entire soul.

There he stood before her, dressed in his usual somber garments, a look
almost of humility in those keen grey eyes of his, which a year ago on
the cliffs of Calais had peered down at her with such relentless hate.

Strange that at this moment she should have felt an instinct of fear.
What cause had she to throw more than a pitiful glance at the man who
had tried so cruelly to wrong her, and who had so signally failed?

Having bowed very low and very respectfully, Chauvelin advanced towards
her, with all the airs of a disgraced courtier craving audience from his
queen.

As he approached she instinctively drew back.

"Would you prefer not to speak to me, Lady Blakeney?" he said humbly.

She could scarcely believe her