ome his former self.

Here Victor rushed in, breathless.

"Paul, lad," he cried, "have you heard the astonishing news?"

"News?"

"Monsieur le Marquis is here!"

"I have seen him, Victor, and spoken to him,"

"A reconciliation? The Virgin save me, but you will return to France!"

"Not I, lad," with a gaiety which deceived the poet. "I will tell you
something later. Have you had your supper?"

"No."

"Then off with us both. And, a bottle of the governor's burgundy which
I have been saving."

"Wine?" excitedly.

"Does not the name sound good? And, by the way, did you know that that
woman with the grey mask, who was at the Corne d'Abondance . . ."

"I have seen her," quietly.

"What is her name, and what has she done?" indifferently.

"Her name I can not tell you, Paul."

"Can not? Why not 'will not'?"

"Will not, then. I have given my promise."

"Have I ever kept a secret from you, Victor?"

"One."

"Name it."

"That mysterious mademoiselle whom you call Diane. You have never even
told me what she looks like."

"I could not if I tried. But this woman in the mask; at least you
might tell me what she has done."

"Politics. Conspiracy, like misery, loves company. . . . Who has been
burning paper?" sniffing.

"Burning paper?"

"Yes; and here's the ash. You've been burning something?"

"Not I, lad," with an abrupt laugh. "Hang it, let us go and eat."

"Yes; I am anxious to know why Monsieur le Marquis is here."

"And the burgundy; it will be like old times." There was sweat on the
Chevalier's forehead, and he drew his sleeve across it.

From an obscure corner of the council chamber the figure of a man
emerged. He walked on tiptoe toward the table. The black ash on the
table fascinated him. For several moments he stared at it.

"'I kiss your handsome grey eyes a thousand times'," he said, softly.
He touched the ash with the tip of his finger, and the feathery
particles sifted about, as if the living had imparted to the inanimate
the sense of uneasiness. "For a space I thought he would kiss her. In
faith, there is more to Monsieur du Cevennes than I had credited to his
account. It takes power, in the presence of that woman, to resist the
temptation to kiss her. But here's a new element, a new page which
makes interesting reading."

The man twirled the ends of his mustache.

"What a curious game of chess life is! Here's a simple play made
complicated. How serenely