"Not of that room," she replied bravely. "You can see me in the other, my friend." Then silence. I could almost hear them breathing. I could picture them looking defiance at one another. I grew hot. "Oh, this is intolerable!" he cried at last. "This is not to be borne. Are you to receive every stranger that comes to town? Are you to be closeted with them, and sup with them, and sit with them, while I eat my heart out outside? Am I--I _will_ go in!" "You shall not!" she cried; but I thought that the indignation in her voice rang false; that laughter underlay it. "It is enough that you insult me," she continued proudly. "But if you dare to touch me, or if you insult him----" "Him!" he cried fiercely. "Him, indeed! Madame, I tell you at once, I have borne enough. I have suffered this more than once, but----" But I had no longer any doubt, and before he could add the next word I was at the door--I had snatched it open, and stood before him. Madame fell back with a cry between tears and laughter, and we stood, looking at one another. The man was Louis St. Alais. CHAPTER XX. THE SEARCH. I had not seen Louis since the day of the duel at Cahors, when, parting from him at the door in the passage by the Cathedral, I had refused to take his hand. Then I had been sorely angry with him. But time and old memories and crowding events had long softened the feeling; and in the joy of meeting him again, of finding him in this unexpected stranger, nothing was further from my thoughts than to rake up old grudges. I held out my hand, therefore, with a laughing word. "_Voilà l'Inconnu_, Monsieur!" I said with a bow. "I am here to find you, and I find you!" He stared at me a moment in the utmost astonishment, and then impulsively grasping my hand he held it, and stood looking at me, with the old affection in his eyes. "Adrien! Adrien!" he said, much moved. "Is it really you?" "Even so, Monsieur." "And here?" "Here," I said. Then, to my astonishment, he slowly dropped my hand; and his manner and his face changed--as a house changes when the shutters are closed. "I am sorry for it," he said slowly, and after a long pause. And then, with an unmistakable flash of anger, "My God, Monsieur! Why have you come?" he cried. "Why have I come?" "Ay, why?" he repeated bitterly. "Why? Why have you come--to trouble us? You do not know what evil you are doing! You do not know, man!" "I know at least what good I am seeking," I answered, purely astounded by this sudden and inexplicable change. "I have made no secret of that, and I make no secret of it now. No man was ever worse treated than I have been by your family. Your attitude now impels me to say that. But when I see Madame la Marquise, to-morrow, I shall tell her that it will take more than this to change me. I shall tell her----" "You will not see her!" he answered. "But I shall!" "You will not!" he retorted.