“This is the place, Mademoiselle,” I said, at last, and as we entered the house together I saw the old woman who acted as concierge, and whom I had come to detest even in a week’s time, leering at us horribly. My blood was boiling as I caught the meaning of her grimace, but I said nothing, fearing to alarm my companion, and we slowly mounted the dark staircase. “’Tis on the third floor,” I said, and we kept on, awakening a thousand echoes. “This is the door, Mademoiselle. I will open it. There is a candle on the table. Good-night.” I took her hand, which I felt was trembling. “And you?” she asked in a whisper. “I will remain here,” I said. “I will sleep upon the threshold. No one can enter without arousing me, so that you may sleep calmly without fear. Good-night.” “Good-night,” she answered, and there were tears in her voice. She lingered yet a moment, as though there were something she still wished to say, then entered the room and closed the door behind her. I heard her moving about for a few moments, and then all was still. I sat down upon the top step of the staircase and considered the situation. I confess it appeared to me an awkward one, for, though I had spoken so confidently to her, I had small hope that whatever I might say would have any weight with her ogre of an uncle. He doubtless detested me as heartily as I did him, and it was not to be denied that he had the law behind him, though in this instance, as in many others, quite divorced from justice. I trembled at thought of the blow her reputation must sustain if it were known that for a night she had been my guest--the face of the concierge, as I had seen it leer at us, gave earnest of what the whole gay, evil world of Paris would believe. I tore my kerchief from my throat, for the thought suffocated me. No one should ever know--how could they, in this great, seething, clamorous city? And if they did--if any dared to hint--thank God, I could answer with my sword! He had thought me her lover--curse his shifty, treacherous eyes! Perhaps she had a lover--and I winced at the thought. But no, I would not believe it! She would have told me. She would have asked me to take her to him. And besides, I reflected, with a sigh of relief, she had said that she had left the convent a week before only to find her uncle’s house another prison. She could not have made such progress in knowledge of the world in so short a time--indeed the frankness of her look was proof enough. With this thought, which somehow soothed and pleased me, I wrapped my cloak about me, and sword at side, lay down athwart the threshold. A vision of her sweet face danced before me--her eyes looked into mine, pure and limpid as twin stars. Marvelling at their guilelessness, I bent to kiss their rosy lids. Still they gazed at me, serene, untroubled, and I stopped, shamed in my inmost consciousness, as one who had thought to desecrate a flower. CHAPTER III I FIND MY PART A DIFFICULT ONE