"Square deal, padre!" roars Joseph, with memories of gigantic poker deals. Irreverent Joe. "Square deal," says the priest, solemnly, as he lays an honest man's hand in that of its peer. He knows the Californian force of this appeal to honor. Joseph selects several cigars. He fusses with his neckgear strangely. "Vamos, amigo," he cries, in tones learned from the muleteers of the far West. Once in the halls of "Madame de Santos," Colonel Joe is the pink of Western elegance. The acute sense of the Missourian lends him a certain dignity, in spite of his gaudy attire. Under fire, this Western pilgrim can affect a "sang froid" worthy of Fontenoy. Radiant in white clinging "crˆpe de Chine," her "prononc‚e" beauty unaccentuated by the baubles of the jeweller, Madame de Santos greets the visitors. A blue circle under her eyes tells of a vigil of either love or hate. Speculation is vain. The "monde" has its imperial secrets. Who can solve the equation of womanhood? Colonel Joseph is effusive in his cheery greeting. "My dear madame, I am glad to be in Paris once more." He would charm this sphinx into life and warmth. Foolish Joseph. "We all are charmed to see you safely returned," murmurs the madame. The padre is studying the art treasures of the incomparable "Salon de Santos." "I have some messages from a friend of yours," continues Joseph, strangely intent upon the narrow rim of his hat. "Ah, yes! Pray who remembers me so many years?" Joseph fires out the answer like a charge of canister from a Napoleon gun: "Philip Hardin." The lady's lips close. There is a steely look in her eyes. Her hand seeks her heaving bosom. Is there a dagger there? "Useless, my lady." There are two men here. The padre is intent upon a war picture of D‚taille. His eyes catch a mirror showing the startled woman. "And--what--did--Mr.--Philip--Hardin say?" the lady gasps. "He asked me if you remembered Hortense Duval, the Queen of the El--" Natalie reels and staggers, as if shot. "By God, Lee was right!" cries Woods. He catches her falling form. The first and only time he will ever hold her in his arms. "Padre, ring the bell!" cries the excited miner. The clock ticks away noisily in the hall. The wondering servants bear madame to her rooms. All is confusion. A fainting fit. "Let's get out of here," whispers Woods, frightened by his own bomb-shell. "Stay till we get a message of formality," murmurs the diplomatic padre. "It would look like violence or insult to leave abruptly. No one here must suspect." Joe nods gloomily and wipes his brows. The stately butler soon expresses the regrets of madame. "A most unforeseen affair, an assault upon one of her discharged servants, has tried her nerves. Will Colonel Woods kindly excuse madame, who will send him word when she receives again?"