ong the gallery. I challenged, and got the
password on the instant in Le Brusquet's voice, and in a half-minute
the little man emerged from the gloom and stood beside me.

"I was ready to give my last pistole to see you," I began; but he put
up his hand, saying in a low tone, as he pointed to the door:

"Hush! Is there anyone within?"

"Mice, I think," I answered softly.

"Perhaps a cat." And he dropped his voice to the lowest whisper.
"Whoever they are I must empty that room ere we speak, for I have, I
think, as much for you as you for me."

With this he knocked twice sharply at the door. After a moment it was
opened, and putting the curtains aside Le Brusquet slipped into the
room. In doing so, whether by accident or design, he left the door
open and the curtains drawn back, so that from where I stood in the
shadow outside I could see and hear all that passed within. There were
only two persons there, and I smiled a little to myself at Le
Brusquet's caution, for one was pretty Mademoiselle Davila, seated
demurely on a tabouret, and the other was a fair-haired boy of sixteen
or so, who stood with a red face and an uncomfortable air some distance
away from her.

"Mice, as I thought," I chuckled to myself, whilst Le Brusquet, with a
profound bow, said:

"Mademoiselle, I had thought to have found M. de Lorgnac in waiting
here."

"Here! M. de Lorgnac!" replied the maid-of-honour, with a little
laugh. "No; M. de Lorgnac never ventures here, unless compelled to."

"I suppose neither of you can tell me where he has gone? Can you, De
Lorges?" And he turned to the page; but the boy only grew redder, and
began to make a fumbling reply.

Mademoiselle Davila, however, cut in. "He has gone to the masque."
And with a burst of confidence as she rose to her feet: "The Queen has
gone too, monsieur."

"To the masque! The masque she said she would never attend!"

"Oh, the Queen is a woman, monsieur! And so she has gone, and gone
masked, too, with Monsieur de Lorgnac in attendance--not a soul
else--and I have been left here--ah!" And she stamped her little foot.
"One cannot even hear the music. Oh! it is a grave, this place--a
grave!"

"Faith! I know those who would think this little waiting-room a
heaven."

"Who?" She was a good girl, but a coquette to her finger-tips, and the
bait took.

Ere he answered Le Brusquet slipped his arm through that of the page,
who seemed to be meditating flight.

"Tha