Their ascent of the stairs was like a race--a race ending in a dead-heat. At the landing, Cartaret turned, of course, toward his neighbor's door; to his amazement, the old woman pulled him to his own. He opened it and struck a match: the room was empty. He held the match until it burnt his fingers. The old woman pushed him toward his table, on which stood a battered lamp. She pointed to the lamp. "But your mistress?" asked Cartaret. The duenna pointed to the lamp. "Shall I light it?" She nodded. He lit the lamp. The flame grew until it illuminated a small circle about the table. "Now what?" Cartaret inquired. Again that odd gesture toward the nose and mouth. "I don't understand," said Cartaret. She picked up the lamp and made as if to search the floor for something. Then she held out the lamp to him. "Oh"--it began to dawn on Cartaret--"you've lost something?" "_Oui, oui!_" He took the lamp, and they both fell on their knees. Together they began a minute inspection of the dusty floor. Cartaret's mind was more easy now: at least his Lady suffered no physical distress. "It's like a sort of religious ceremony," muttered the American, as, foot by foot, they crawled and groped over the grimy boards.... "Was it money you lost?" he inquired. No, it was not money. The search continued. Cartaret crawled under the divan, while the duenna held the cover high to admit the light. He blackened his hands in the fire-place and transferred a little of the soot to his few extra clothes that hung behind the corner curtain--but only a little; most of the soot preferred his hands. "I never knew before that the room was so large," he gasped. They had covered two-thirds of the floor-space when a new thought struck him. Still crouching on his knees, he once more tried his companion. "I can't find it," he said; "but I'd give a good deal to know what I'm looking for. What were you doing in here when you lost it, anyway?" She shook her head, with her hand on her breast. Then she pointed to the door and nodded. "You mean your mistress lost it?" "_Oui._" "Well, then, let's get her. She can tell me what I'm after." He half rose; but the woman seized his arm. She broke into loud sounds, patently protestations. "Nonsense," said Cartaret. "Why not? Come on; I'll knock at her door." The duenna would not have her mistress disturbed. The ancient voice rose to a shriek. "But I say yes." The shriek grew louder. With amazing strength, the old woman forced his unsuspecting body back to its former position; she came near to jolting the lamp from his hand. It was then that Cartaret heard a lesser noise behind them: a voice, the low sweet voice of The Rose-Lady, asked, in the duenna's strange tongue, a question from the doorway. Cartaret turned his head.