At that moment the vivacious Suzanne appeared, exclaiming in horror at the wreck of the room and the spectacle of her mistress like one dead across the threshold. “The curtains ignited from the candles,” explained Harold Castello, adding: “I have burned my hands fearfully in extinguishing the flames, and must go to my doctor and have the burns dressed. You may take your mistress into another room, Suzanne, and care for her until my return.” He disappeared, and Suzanne brought restoratives for Violet, applying them so skillfully that she soon opened her eyes, murmuring, languidly: “Oh, what is this? Where am I?” “With a friend,” murmured the French maid, significantly, and she assisted her mistress to rise and led her into the dressing-room adjoining the ruined boudoir. “Lie down here on the sofa and rest, my dear,” she said, in quite a different tone from that she had used in her former interview, and the languid girl obeyed, for she was trembling so that she could not stand or even hold up her golden head. Suzanne brought her a glass of wine, but she shook her head, exclaiming: “I will touch neither food nor drink in this house.” “Then rest a while in quiet, and I will return to you,” the woman replied kindly, and left the room. She went down stairs and ascertained that Harold Castello had left the house with his valet, to seek a physician and have his burns dressed. The only other occupant of the house, a man-cook, was nodding sleepily over his kitchen table with a newspaper. The woman returned to Violet, whom she found sitting up, looking with displeasure at the beautiful white silk gown she wore. She said, coldly: “Suzanne, I have just observed that you took the liberty of changing my dress while I was in a swoon.” “It was during your first swoon, lady, when Mr. Castello first brought you in, and at his command.” “Very well, Suzanne; but now I command you to bring back the traveling dress I wore when I came. I wish to resume it.” She had feared a refusal, but to her surprise and relief the maid consented with alacrity and deftly assisted her to change her robe. She even brought Violet’s hat and placed it carefully on her golden hair. “Now you are ready for your second journey,” she said. A quiver passed over the beautiful form, and Violet cried: “Does that man mean to take me away from here to-night?” “No, my lady, I am going to rescue you,” breathed Suzanne, in a low and thrilling voice that startled Violet by its altered tone. She threw out her white hand and clutched the woman’s arm, sobbing, hysterically: “Oh, Heaven, can this be true? Are you indeed my friend, or,” suspiciously, “is this a treacherous plan to lead me into some new danger?” “Not so loud, dear lady, lest some one overhear us,” breathed the maid. “Sit down one moment and let me explain as rapidly as I can, for we must be gone from this house ere Harold Castello returns.”