"_Messieurs_," he said, as he gestured toward Antoinette, "she is safe. She will presently awaken. It can not return. _Jamais!_... It was my fault ... in the beginning ... but this infamy was not my intent.... I loved her, but she rejected me ... persistently. And for revenge ... and to break her spirit ... I administered without her knowledge a compound ... of hypnotic drugs ... so that she and that Syrian girl would each night exchange bodies ... then Hassan took a hand...." He regarded d'Artois for a moment. "You, _monsieur_, doubtless understand----" Then, to Farrell, "But this last infamy ... was not mine--Shirkuh and Hassan--I tried to make ... amends----" For an instant Farrell regarded the dying man with revulsion. Then he saw the remorse on the drawn, blood-splashed features, and thought of the Marquis' last gallant stand, confronting and exorcising that diabolical presence from beyond the Border. "Stout fellow," he muttered, as he grasped the Marquis' hand. "_C'est fini_," murmured d'Artois a moment later. "Magnificent in his death as he was misguided in his life ... dying on his feet, he had the will to conquer, and make restitution." Then d'Artois rose and glanced about him. "Do you know the way out of here?" "Through that door," directed Farrell. "He told me, before we made our rush." "_Messieurs_," suggested d'Artois, "be ready with your pistols, should any of these assassins be lingering. I will take charge of the young lady, and you, my friend, lead the way. _Monsieur le Marquis_ perhaps deserves greater courtesy, but we can not carry his body and take the risk of being caught without weapons drawn and ready." Farrell led the way. Without much difficulty, he found the passage that opened into the vault where he had lain while regaining his consciousness preliminary to submitting to Hassan's tests. And from there they finally emerged in the heart of the citadel. A few moments later Farrell and d'Artois, carrying Antoinette, met Raoul where he was waiting at the wheel of the Renault. _9. D'Artois Is Envious_ Antoinette, an hour later, was entirely herself. "Oh, it's wonderful to be out of that awful garden," she said, and curled herself up in the depth of a large, upholstered chair. "And now that _Monsieur le Médicin_ admits that I'm as good as new, you might satisfy my curiosity on a few points. How did you ever----" She glanced up at Farrell, who had seated himself on the arm of her chair. He was not yet through convincing himself that Satan's Garden was a thing of the past, and insisted on keeping Antoinette within arm's reach. "Suppose you ask Pierre," he said. D'Artois laughed.