She, in her turn, knew my voice; for the door was opened, and Marie Delhasse stood before me, her face pale with weariness and sorrow, and her eyes wide with wonder. She drew back before me, and I stepped in and shut the door, finding myself in a rather large, sparely furnished room. A door opposite was half-open. On the bed lay a bonnet and a jacket which certainly did not belong to Marie. Most undoubtedly I had intruded into the bedchamber of that highly respectable lady, Mme. Delhasse. I can only plead that the circumstances were peculiar. CHAPTER XVIII. A Strange Good Humor. For a moment Marie Delhasse stood looking at me; then she uttered a low cry, full of relief, of security, of joy; and coming to me stretched out her hands, saying: "You are here then, after all!" Charmed to see how she greeted me, I had not the heart to tell her that her peril was not past; nor did she give me the opportunity, for went on directly: "And you are wounded? But not badly, not badly, Mr. Aycon?" "Who told you I was wounded?" "Why, the duke. He said that you had been shot by a thief, and were very badly hurt; and--and--" She stopped, blushing. ("Where is he?" I remembered the words; my forecast of their meaning had been true.) "And did what he told you," I asked softly, "make you leave the convent and come to find me?" "Yes," she answered, taking courage and meeting my eyes. "And then you were not here, and I thought it was a trap." "You were right; it was a trap. I came to find you at the convent, but you were gone: only by the chance of meeting with a friend who saw the duke's carriage standing here have I found you." "You were seeking for me?" "Yes, I was seeking for you." I spoke slowly, as though hours were open for our talk; but suddenly I remembered that at any moment the old witch might return. And I had much to say before she came. "Marie--" I began eagerly, never thinking that the name she had come to bear in my thoughts could be new and strange from my lips. But the moment I had uttered it I perceived what I had done, for she drew back further, gazing at me with inquiring eyes, and her breath seemed arrested. Then, answering the question in her eyes, I said simply: "For what else am I here, Marie?" and I caught her hand in my left hand. She stood motionless, still silently asking what I would. And I kissed her hand. And again the low cry, lower still--half a cry and half a sigh--came from her, and she drew timidly nearer to me; and I drew her yet nearer, whispering, in a broken word or two, that I loved her. But she, still dazed, looked up at me, whispering, "When, when?"