A minute later the door opened and Laroche stole in. For a moment or two none of them recognised him. His black beard and moustache had vanished; a grizzled wig with long lanky tufts of hair, which fell on his coat-collar behind, covered his head; his eyebrows had been manipulated to match the wig; while a pair of heavy horn-rimmed spectacles served to disguise him still further. There was no longer the slightest trace of a Parisian dandy in his appearance; his clothes were homely, and of the fashion of some years previously. He looked like a small provincial shopkeeper who might have come over to England for a holiday. But no disguise could hide the pallor of his face, the nervous twitching of his thin lips, or the abject terror that lurked in his eyes. Archie and the colonel stood up. The moment of departure had come. Laroche turned to his wife, who had also risen. Placing both his hands over his heart and bending low in front of her, he said in a husky whisper: ‘Mora, pardon, pardon! We shall never meet again.’ For a moment or two she hesitated; all the woman within her was profoundly moved; then she went up to him. ‘Hector, with my whole heart I forgive you!’ she said. That was their farewell. A moment later Mora heard the door close behind the three men. She turned down the lamp and drew back one of the curtains. It was pitch-dark outside; not a star was visible. She opened the window a little way, in order that she might watch as well as listen. Presently she heard a faint noise of footsteps on the gravel below. The three men had left the hotel by way of the French-window in the sitting-room on the ground floor. Mora stood with straining eyes and ears. Suddenly the darkness was shivered by a quivering flash of lightning, and in that instant she saw the figures of the three men crossing the slope of the hill on their way to the lake. At the same time, she imagined she saw the stealthy form of Santelle disappear behind a clump of laurel, as if he were watching the retreating figures.—Will he have known Laroche in spite of his disguise? The thought sent a cold tremor through her heart—half of horror, half of regret. But darkness had come again in the twinkling of an eye, and she saw nothing more. With a heavy sigh, she let the curtain drop into its place just as the door opened and Clarice entered the room. CHAPTER XVII.—CONCLUSION.