company, otherwise I should
have surrendered with my confreres."

"But there is no question of _your_ crossing the frontier, Mr.
Buckhurst," I said.

His colorless eyes sought mine, then dropped. They were almost stone
white in the lamp-light--white as his delicately chiselled face and
hands.

"Are we not to be exiled?" he asked.

"_You_ are not," I said.

"Am I not under arrest?"

I stepped forward and placed him formally under arrest, touching him
slightly on the shoulder. He did not move a muscle, yet, beneath the
thin cloth of his coat I could divine a frame of iron.

"Your creed is one of non-resistance to violence," I said--"is it
not?"

"Yes," he replied. I saw that gray ring around the pale pupil of his
eyes contracting, little by little.

"You have not asked me why I arrest you," I suggested, "and,
monsieur, I must ask you to step back from that table--quick!--don't
move!--not one finger!"

For a second he looked into the barrel of my pistol with concentrated
composure, then glanced at the table-drawer which he had jerked open.
A revolver lay shining among the litter of glass tubes and papers in
the drawer.

The Countess, too, saw the revolver and turned an astonished face to
my prisoner.

"Who brought you here?" asked Buckhurst, quietly of me.

"I did," said the Countess, her voice almost breaking. "Tell this
man and his government that you are ready to face every charge against
your honor! There is a dreadful mistake; they--they think you are--"

"A thief," I interposed, with a smile. "The government only asks you
to prove that you are not."

Slowly Buckhurst turned his eyes on the Countess; the faintest glimmer
of white teeth showed for an instant between the gray lines that were
his lips.

"So _you_ brought this man here?" he said. "Oh, I am glad to know
it."

"Then you cannot be that same John Buckhurst who stands in the
tribune of the Chateau Rouge and promises all Paris to his chosen
people," I remarked, smiling.

"No," he said, slowly, "I cannot be that man, nor can I--"

"Stop! Stand back from that table!" I cried.

"I beg your pardon," he said, coolly.

"Madame," said I, without taking my eyes from him, "in a community
dedicated to peace, a revolver is an anachronism. So I think--if you
move I will shoot you, Mr. Buckhurst!--so I think I had better take
it, table-drawer and all--"

"Stop!" said Buckhurst.

"Oh no, I can't stop now," said I, cheerfully, "and if you at