"Oh, for the blunder of that I was accountable, Monsieur," and she smiled at him, frankly, the combative spirit fully awake, now, since he chose to question her--_her_!--before the others, "I should have explained, perhaps--I believe I meant to, but there was conversation, and I probably forgot." "I see! You forgot to explain, and Captain Monroe forgot you were acquainted when he was questioned, just now." "Captain Monroe could not possibly forget the honor of such acquaintance," retorted Monroe; "he only refused to answer." The two men met each other's eyes for an instant--a glance like the crossing of swords. Then McVeigh said: "Where did you get the picture found on your person last night?" "Stole it," said Monroe, calmly, and McVeigh flushed in quick anger at the evident lie and the insolence of it; he was lying then to shield this woman who stood between them--to shield her from her husband. "Madame Caron," and she had never before heard him speak in that tone; "did you ever give Captain Monroe a picture of yourself?" "Never!" she said, wonderingly. Margeret had taken a step forward and stood irresolutely as though about to speak; she was very pale, and Monroe knew in an instant who she was--not by the picture, but from Pluto's story last night. The terror in her eyes touched him, and as McVeigh lifted the picture from the table, he spoke. "Colonel McVeigh, I will ask you to study that picture carefully before you take for granted that it is the face of any one you know," he said, quietly; "that picture was made probably twenty years ago." "And the woman?" "The woman is dead--died long ago." Margeret's eyes closed for an instant, but none of them noticed her. Judithe regarded Monroe, questioningly, and then turned to McVeigh: "May I not see this picture you speak of, since--" But Monroe in two strides was beside the table where it lay. "Colonel McVeigh, even a prisoner of war should be granted some consideration, and all I ask of you is to show the article in question to no one without first granting me a private interview." Again the eyes of the men met and the sincerity, the appeal of Monroe impressed McVeigh; something might be gained by conceding the request--something lost by refusing it, and he slipped the case into his pocket without even looking at Judithe, or noticing her question. But Monroe looked at her, and noted the quick resentment at his speech. "Pardon, Madame," he said, gently; "my only excuse is that there is a lady in the question." "A lady who is no longer living?" she asked, mockingly. She was puzzled over the affair of the picture, puzzled at the effect it had on McVeigh. In some way he was jealous concerning it--jealous, how absurd, when she adored him!