What would those who trusted him say if they knew that he had sent this important note to the miserable boy who lived in a hovel at the gates of Les Vignes? Dian, in his wisdom, knew that he had done well. He had spent many a night in Pigeon Valley, when his eyes were blurred with weariness, teaching Grigge to read and write. He had kept up the boy’s courage when he had been in despair, and had given him a hold on life. He had strengthened his love for young and helpless animals. He trusted him now to do this one great service. “The little Vivi is late. It is best that I go and find her,” Dian said, and as he spoke, he tore up the copy of the letter, and threw it into the fire. Then he went out, leaving Humphrey and Rosanne to their simple supper of bread and greens. Dian wanted a word alone with Vivi. He went to the West Barricade and stood watching the carts go through. He knew several of the soldiers who stood about and he nodded to Georges Fardou, who was on guard at the gate, and with whom he often had a word. He was about to turn away when two figures came flying through the gates, a girl and a boy! They stood still for a second, as though dazed. The next instant they threw themselves upon Dian. Fardou gave a gruff laugh, exclaiming, “Look here, young Vivi. There will be no more of this going in and out of the gates. You and your young tramp of a friend can keep inside. You’d never have gotten through to-day if I’d been on guard.” Dian never knew how he passed the next few minutes. His Little Mademoiselle, the wildest, dirtiest little vagabond imaginable, was hugging him, whispering through soft sobs, “Dian, Dian, Dian.” Jean Barbette, a dusty, smutty-nosed boy, if ever there was one, held tight to his hand, fairly jumping for joy. Dian felt his heart give a great leap when he heard the guard call out “Vivi.” He himself had thought at first that Marie Josephine was Vivi. There was safety in this, beyond words to measure! He took them each by the hand, saying over his shoulder to Fardou, “I’ll see that they stay where they belong!” He walked with them quickly down a side street toward the alley. * * * * * Lisle had sat still on the chest for some time after Dian left him. He looked at the quiet dusk of the old place, at the flicker of light from the green lanthorn, at the weird figures on the tapestry. He was angry, for his pride had been hurt, his sorest point. Grandfather had told Marie Josephine about the cellar instead of him, had told a mere child who could know little or nothing of what it meant.