ly begins to anticipate the
pleasure she will take in telling it to others, in confidence."

She looked up for a moment from her work; for Loo had given a short
laugh. She looked, to satisfy herself that it was not the ungenerous
laugh that nine men out of ten would have cast at her; and it was not.
For Loo was looking at her with frank amusement.

"Oh, yes," she said; "I know that, too. It is one of the items not
included in a convent education. It is unnecessary to teach us such
things as that. We know them before we go in. Your secret is safe enough
with me, however--the one you have told me. That is the least I can
promise in return for your confidence. As to the other secret, bon Dieu!
we will pretend I do not know it, if you like. At all events, you can
vow that you never told me, if--if ever you are called upon to do so."

She paused for a moment to finish off a thread. Then, when she reached
out her hand for the reel, she glanced at him with a smile, not unkind.

"So you need not pretend any more, monsieur," she said, seeing that
Barebone was wise enough to keep silence. "I do not know who you are,
mon ami," she went on, in a little burst of confidence; "and, as I told
you just now, I do not care. And, as to that other matter, there is no
ill-will. I only permit myself to wonder, sometimes, if she is pretty.
That is feminine, I suppose. One can be feminine quite young, you
understand."

She looked at him with unfathomable eyes and a little smile, such as men
never forget once they have seen it.

"But you were inclined to be ironical just now, when I said I would
marry you if you were successful. So I mention that other secret just to
show that the understanding you wish to arrive at may be mutual--there
may be two sides to it. I hear my father coming. That is his voice at
the gate. We will leave things as they stand: n'est ce pas?"

She rose as she spoke and went toward the door. The Marquis's voice was
raised, and there seemed to be some unusual clamour at the gate.

CHAPTER XXXVIII. A COUP-D'ETAT

As the Marquis de Gemosac's step was already on the stairs, Barebone was
spared the necessity of agreeing in words to the inevitable.

A moment later the old man hurried into the room. He had not even waited
to remove his coat and gloves. A few snow-flakes powdered his shoulders.

"Ah!" he cried, on perceiving Barebone. "Good--you are safe!" He turned
to speak to some one who was following him up t