This was one hope, but there was yet another. Monsieur Rouge, who had brought Mallow's food to him several times, had on one occasion thrown off his revolutionary mask so far as to promise to aid the prisoner's escape. And, although Mallow did not well see how he was to do this--seeing that Rouge had not divulged his scheme,--there was comfort in the thought that, if Aldean should fail, he might succeed. So he resigned himself to the inevitable, and waited. Since his imprisonment Drabble had not appeared, nor indeed had Mrs. Arne; but on the sixth day, when Mallow was wondering what they were thinking of doing with him, the lady herself came into his attic. She re-locked the door, sat down on the one chair--which she placed so that she faced Mallow sitting on the bed--and, with the most amiable composure, signified that she wished to converse. The mere sight of her infuriated Mallow, but the memory of his previous folly taught him to control himself. He was as self-possessed as Madame herself. "You are no doubt surprised to see me, Mr. Mallow," began Mrs. Arne, in her unemotional tones; "but you will be less so when you hear what I have to say." "Nothing you could do would surprise me, Madame, after your daring to shut me up in this illegal manner." "Oh"--Madame shrugged--"everything we do in this house is illegal. The Brotherhood is outside the so-called law, and against it. If there is any one to blame, it is yourself. As a spy, you can hardly expect mercy." "I am not a spy." "Then your interpretation of the word differs from mine. You came here under the pretence of joining us, from conscientious motives; but your real errand is to criminate myself and the doctor in the murder of this man Carson. Your intentions were dangerous to our personal safety; ergo, we lock you up! Can you blame us?" "If the tiger has the tiger's nature who can blame him?" retorted Mallow. "You killed Carson; I dare say you will not hesitate to murder me." "As to yourself," said Madame, smoothly, "we will speak of that later. But you are wrong about Mr. Carson; I did not kill him, neither did Drabble." "I find it difficult to believe that. You and Drabble--he under the name of Hain--rented the house in which the man met his death. He was stabbed with a knitting-needle. I have observed that you knit a great deal, Madame." "True; but I confine my needles to their proper use. The doctor and I left Mr. Carson alone in the house; when we returned he was dead. Who murdered him I know no more than you--or the police," finished Madame, with a sneer. "Your explanation is too diaphanous to be convincing." "I did not come here to convince you," said Mrs. Arne, dryly, "but to inform you that we intend to give you a chance to save your life." "Save my life?" echoed Mallow (he could not repress a slight tremor). "Your meaning has been murder, then?"