I glanced at Larry. (From hints Pat had innocently let drop, I was sure the Marquise had been in love with Larry for years: that she'd kept Pat under her thumb in France, hoping to keep Larry, too. It occurred to me that things said by the girl in letters to Adrienne--things about Mrs. Shuster, or Idonia, or both--had probably brought the Marquise flying to the rescue. Or else, that unspeakable maid of Pat's--Angele--was engaged by the Marquise to let her know what was "doing" at Kidd's Pines.) Larry's face was a study! Not a study of "detected guilt." Nothing like that. He looked sheepish, yet _relieved_. I read in his beautiful eyes of a boy, "Hurray! I _bet_ she'll somehow rescue me from Shuster yet!" I should have bet the same, if there'd been any one to bet with, but there wasn't--unless Mrs. Shuster herself. And she didn't yet realize what the advent of the Frenchwoman might mean for her future. She was beginning to recover from the shock of Caspian's fall, and to preen herself because she was about to meet a real, live Marquise. She had only a few minutes to wait, for Peter's prophecy came true. The great Marcel did bring the Marquise and Adrienne on, by their urgent request, to Awepesha. Pat, it seems, had written so much about Jack and me, they almost felt as if they knew us! And young Marcel, already assured that he'd nothing to fear in America, was with his father and the ladies. (I'll tell you presently the story of old Justin Stanislaws' death and young Marcel's connection with it: but I'd never heard it properly myself when the Moncourt party arrived. You see Marcel didn't come much into Peter Storm's "Secret," as he'd confessed it to me.) There was hardly time to wonder what the Marquise and young Marcel would be like (and Adrienne) when the visitors were announced by our bewildered butler. If you have felt any sympathy for Larry you'll be glad to hear that the Marquise is a Charmer from Charmerville. How Larry ever resisted her all these years I can't think, unless he valued his freedom beyond the lure of woman, and refrained from going to France for fear of striking his colours. She's the Frenchiest creature you ever saw: you know, the fascinating kind with magnolia-white skin, languishing eyes, black hair worn over the ears, red lips, and any age you like between twenty-eight and forty-five. Adrienne, compared to her mother, is a mere _lump_. But she has fine eyes and a bright smile, and Pat loves her, so she must be nice. As for Marcel Junior, he really does look a little like Peter; a sort of a Christmas-card resemblance to a strong type. He's really engaged to Adrienne, it appears, and is an entirely reformed character; but I expect that the menage will be mostly enriched by Marcel Pere--and Peter.