I confess that the arm I gave my partner was not so steady as I could have wished it; for my heart was torn between delight and despair--delight that she should be there beside me, despair at my own stupidity in understanding so little of all this; but I managed by some miracle to enter the dining-room without accident, to get her safely seated and to seat myself beside her. I drew a deep breath of relief when I found myself in port. “You have never been to Paris, M. de Tavernay?” asked a low voice at my elbow, and I looked up to find her eyes on mine. “No, mademoiselle,” I stammered. “Perhaps not even to Orléans?” and I saw again in their depths that glimmer of mischief. “No,” I answered, not heeding it as a wise man would. “I have passed all my life upon our estate at Beaufort.” “Something told me so!” she murmured, and turned to her plate as innocently as though she were quite unconscious of having planted a poniard in my bosom. CHAPTER IV. A SCENT OF DANGER. I BORE the blow with such stoicism as I possessed, and even made some show of listening and laughing at M. le Comte’s account of our meeting and subsequent reconciliation. Both women were unaffectedly delighted with the story, which, indeed, was told with a wit and spirit quite beyond my reproduction. As I write these lines I am again impressed with the wide difference between the awkward country boy who sat scowling in that pleasant company and the accomplished and finished gentleman who did so much to entertain it. For I know now that my assumption of ease and interest could have deceived no one. All of us, I think, looking back over the mistakes and gaucheries of our youth must feel our cheeks crimson more than once; certainly mine grow red when I think upon the sorry figure I made that evening. But when I started to set this history upon paper I determined not to spare myself, nor will I. “But who could have sent the message?” asked madame when M. le Comte had finished the story. “I cannot even guess,” he answered. “How was it delivered to you? How came you to believe it?” “I believed it,” he explained, “because it was brought to me by one of our old servants--Laroche--whom I left in charge of the stables.” “Ah, true,” murmured madame. “Laroche disappeared a week ago. I fancied he had run away to join the Revolutionists.” “Perhaps he did,” said her husband quietly. Madame looked at him with a start of alarm. “The Revolutionists?” she repeated. “It was they who sent the message? But why? What was their object? Ah, I know,” she added with sudden conviction. “It was to deprive the Vendéans of your sword, in order that they might be defeated.” M. le Comte smiled as he looked down into her fond, admiring eyes. “Ah, my dear,” he said, “my sword is not so powerful as that. The Vendéans will win their battles just the same without me. I think the message was merely the bait for a trap----”