close the
door and to set a chair for her, his manner an admirable suggestion of
ardour restrained by deference.

She sat down with an outward calm under which none would have suspected
the full extent of her agitation, and she bent her eyes upon the man
whom the Queen had sent for her deliverance.

After all, Garnache's appearance was hardly suggestive of the role of
Perseus which had been thrust upon him. She saw a tall, spare man,
with prominent cheek-bones, a gaunt, high-bridged nose, very fierce
mustachios, and a pair of eyes that were as keen as sword-blades and
felt to her glance as penetrating. There was little about him like
to take a woman's fancy or claim more than a moderate share of her
attention, even when circumstances rendered her as interested in him as
was now Mademoiselle de La Vauvraye.

There fell a silence, broken at last by Marius, who leaned, a supple,
graceful figure, his elbow resting upon the summit of Valerie's chair.

"Monsieur de Garnache does us the injustice to find a difficulty in
believing that you no longer wish to leave us."

That was by no means what Garnache had implied; still, since it really
expressed his mind, he did not trouble to correct Marius.

Valerie said nothing, but her eyes travelled to madame's countenance,
where she found a frown. Garnache observed the silence, and drew his own
conclusions.

"So we have sent for you, Valerie," said the Dowager, taking up her
son's sentence, "that you may yourself assure Monsieur de Garnache that
it is so."

Her voice was stern; it bore to the girl's ears a subtle, unworded
repetition of the threat the Marquise had already voiced. Mademoiselle
caught it, and Garnache caught it too, although he failed to interpret
it as precisely as he would have liked.

The girl seemed to experience a difficulty in answering. Her eyes roved
to Garnache's, and fell away in affright before their glitter. That
man's glance seemed to read her very mind, she thought; and suddenly
the reflection that had terrified her became her hope. If it were as she
deemed it, what matter what she said? He would know the truth, in spite
of all.

"Yes, madame," she said at last, and her voice was wholly void of
expression. "Yes, monsieur, it is as madame says. It is my wish to
remain at Condillac."

From the Dowager, standing a pace or two away from Garnache, came the
sound of a half-sigh. Garnache missed nothing. He caught the sound,
and accepted it as an ex