I noticed that de Lacy had avoided two heavily built doors opposite the ballroom. When we had returned from our tour, I stopped before them. "And here?" I asked. "The picture gallery, my lord," he responded unwillingly, and swung the doors open. There was an unhappy expression on his face. The room was long and narrow, and the walls except for the windows were lined with portraits. We walked slowly down the length of the room, looking at the portraits of a dead and gone race. "The former owners of the château?" I asked. De Lacy nodded. Suddenly I looked at the part of the room facing the door which he had entered. At first we had been too far away to distinguish anything about it except that there was only one large painting hanging in the center. Now that I was nearer, I could see the painting, and I caught my breath in astonishment; for there was the portrait of the lady of my dream, smiling down on me. Wrexler caught my arm, "That's the girl--the one I saw on the stairs." "That is the portrait of Helene, Mademoiselle d'Harcourt, daughter of the Lord of Harcourt, who owned this château," de Lacy's voice broke in. Wrexler and I exclaimed simultaneously, "But I----" and "She is----" De Lacy looked at us strangely. "It is from her that the château got its new name Rougemont--_Red Mountain_. Before that, it was called Hôtel d'Harcourt. Mademoiselle Helene was very beautiful, as you can see, _Messieurs_, and she had many suitors. At last, from among them, she chose an English lord. One of the discarded lovers, Black George--_le Georges Noir_--vowed that she should not belong to the Englishman, or ever leave Rougemont. "She laughed, Mademoiselle Helene, and her father, the Lord d'Harcourt, laughed too, for he had many men at arms and was rich and powerful. Black George did not laugh, he only set his lips grimly. The wedding day came and the beautiful Helene married the English lord in the great hall, but just as he took her in his arms for the nuptial kiss, there arose a great noise outside. It was Black George attacking the château. "The English lord, with Helene's kiss warm upon his lips, went forth to battle. There was a fight such as these peaceful lands had never seen, and the mountain ran red with blood. Black George was the victor. He slew the Englishman, he slew the Lord of Harcourt, and his men hacked to pieces the defenders of the château. "Black George, followed by his men, their swords red with blood, came into the great hall where Helene d'Harcourt sat on the throne, her face whiter than her wedding dress. Black George flung her lover's body at her feet, and the women of the household who were crouched about the throne cried aloud with terror. The fair Helene did not cry, nor did she moan; she only looked straight at Black George, and there was that in her gaze that silenced everyone in the great hall; even Black George stepped back a pace.