The tragedy which for a while was bounded by the walls of that pygmy house will forever remain in shadow, for such has been the decree of Destiny,--rather, such has been the will of certain powerful men in high places. On the evening when this narrative opens, the prolonged spring twilight had lost every trace of the sunset afterglow when an aristocratic, stalwart young man enveloped in a gray cloak which did not conceal the symmetry of his form, approached the grating at the rear of the house and knocked on the iron bars with his cane four times at regular intervals. A moment later a white skirt gleamed amid the shrubbery and the face of its young possessor shone back of the grating. A dainty hand glided through the bars and the visitor clasped it ardently. Affectionate greetings followed and anxious questionings, too, for these plighted hearts could but claim Love's arrears after their long separation. "Did you arrive today?" "I have but just come, not even taking time to change my clothes. The letter which I sent preceded me but half an hour." "Do _they_ know you are here?" "No. They think I am hunting on my Picmort estate." A brief silence followed. The woman--the girl, rather, for she was scarcely more than sixteen--contracted the arch of her perfect brow. "I do not understand the reason for the deception, René. Why should you be ashamed of loving me?" He seemed at a loss for an answer and then with an effort, said: "Amélie, my own, I have taken this journey for the sole purpose of giving you the reason. It is eight months since we were separated, and during that time I have written you seldom because you warned me that letters directed to your family either arrive unsealed or else fail to arrive. Besides, Amélie, there is something I ought to say to you, but I--give me both your adored hands, for only so can I speak. Courage, courage, Amélie. Trust me; I shall be constant. Oh, my love," he suddenly broke off, "do not ask me to speak, but believe that whatever I should now attempt toward the realization of our union would fail utterly--" "Would fail utterly," she repeated scornfully. "You, a man, speak such words! What, then, did your vows signify?" Her beautiful face gleamed like a cameo against the darkness. "In God's name, Amélie, listen and be not so harsh. I came from France to ask you to believe in me and not force me to speak. May I not be silent for the present?" "No. I demand the truth, be that what it may." René's attitude revealed the struggle through which he was passing, and when his words came, it was as if they were hammered out of him.