Again the key turned, the door was butted violently open, and a shock-headed jailor hurried in with a tray, while some unseen agency closed the door behind him. “Now, no complaints, my little pigeons. I know you are grumbling because poor Jacques is five minutes late. Always meals—always eating—always trays to carry about and dishes to wash up.” He set down the tray with a crash. “There is stew to-night. Are you pampered, hein?” As he proceeded noisily to set spoon and platters on the bare board, the prisoners regarded him and each other with indulgent smiles. They esteemed themselves fortunate in the attendance of the noisy Jacques, the best-hearted jailor in La Force. “No, we are not grumbling, my dear Jacques,” said the girl in her gentle, tired voice. “You have so much to do, have you not? Shall I set out those spoons for you?” And she went to his assistance. “Let us all help,” said one of the young men, laughing, and he and his companion, leaving their elders by the fire, crowded to the table, despite the remonstrances of Jacques, who asserted with some truth that they were merely hindering him. Thus it was that the key turned, and the door opened a third time unnoticed, and it was the girl who, first looking up, cried in surprise, “Who is that?” A handsome youth in a violet-blue suit of extreme elegance and the latest cut was standing just inside the door looking at the scene with interest. “Bless me!” grunted Jacques, coming hastily round the table, “I had forgotten. Citizen Maisonfleur, I have a new guest for you. Didn’t you notice that I brought in six covers. The citizen only arrived this morning.” “And is very welcome,” observed the Chevalier, getting up from his chair with much dignity. “Sir, we shall be much obliged to you if you will do us the favour of supping with us.” Louis bowed and came over to him. “Had I known that I was intruding on a private party——” he apologised between jest and earnest. “However, I was not in reality offered an alternative, and that must be my excuse.” “None, my dear sir, is needed, I assure you,” said the old man, evidently favourably impressed. “You are only too welcome to our little circle. Let me present you to my daughter, Mademoiselle Jeanne-Céleste-Valentine de Maisonfleur.” Louis, supplying his name, kissed the little cold hand, and was duly made acquainted with MM. Chanzeau and Lagrange, who had abandoned the laying of the table to Jacques. But before he was introduced to the elder man, the latter, wrinkling up a pair of short-sighted eyes, asked abruptly: “Are you the Saint-Ermay who was in the bodyguard, compagnie Villeroy?” “Yes,” said Louis, puzzled. “Were you there? Pardon me if I have had the pleasure of meeting you and the bad manners to forget it——”