She was holding a cup of red wine in her hand, but stopped in the act of lifting it to her lips as she caught sight of us, and setting down the wine untasted advanced, saying: "Enter, I pray you. La Marmotte bids you welcome." "I thank you, madame," I replied bowing, with many misgivings in my heart, and inwardly cursing the folly that had made me yield and enter this house. But who is there who does not make mistakes?--and I for one have never set claim to be infallible. I was wrong, and I admit it--that is enough. And so we went in, and for the first time there was light enough to see mademoiselle's face, and as I looked there came to me a sting of regret for the days that would never return. It was as if some devil had flashed before me a mirror in which the past was reflected; and, believe me, when one has lived and regretted it is not necessary to be in love for such a lightning flash of bitter memory to come to a man when he sees beside him the purity of innocence. And so it was too with La Marmotte, who had turned to us with a light laugh, and lighter words to her lips; but laugh and words died away as she met the girl's look, and--I could read her like an open page--awakened memory took the woman back to the time when she herself was as the girl before her. And so, because there were yet undefiled wells of good in her soul, there came upon her an unwonted timidity, and it was with a respectful hesitation that she pressed upon us seats and refreshment. But even as she did so her eyes met mine with a half-imploring, half-defiant glance. She felt that I knew, though I thanked her for her courtesy as if she were a princess of the land. Mademoiselle sank weariedly into a chair; whilst La Marmotte, with all the silent notes in her heart touched in some undefinable way, hovered over her, fearing to approach her, and yet feeling as if she must. For me, I remained standing, softly rubbing my wounded arm, over which I had drawn my cloak, and looking around me here, there, and everywhere, for I knew we were in a trap, and trapped by my own folly. As I looked I saw something white showing beneath the cushions of a settle, and taking the cup of wine that La Marmotte handed to me I moved thereto, and, sitting down, looked more closely. It was a white mask. Softly drawing it forth, and, unobserved, slipping it into the pocket of my cloak, I saw in doing so that it was stained with fresh blood, and then I knew we were in the house of death. At this moment Torquato Trotto appeared at the door with suave apologies, and stepping forward, rubbing his hands together, he said: "I regret to have appeared so discourteous; I trust that monsieur and madame will remain here for to-night." "I am afraid, Signer Torquato Trotto, that is impossible." "_Per Bacco_! You know me!" exclaimed the Italian in slight surprise. "The name of Torquato Trotto is known in France," I said, and the brow of the man darkened.