"My name is Philippe Vétérin," said the cuirassier, folding his arms with their gauntleted hands, and fixing a stern look upon Mansart. "Captain Nicolas La Hire is my friend." "And my enemy," muttered Simon, his deep-set eyes flashing. "I have come to Orgemot on his behalf." "Ah! Is he wounded?" "He is." Mansart rubbed his hands together. "But not badly. Unless you are going to listen to me, I think it likely that La Hire will pay you a visit one of these days." Simon sank uneasily into his chair. "What has this to do with me?" he demanded. "And how is it that you are here?" Vétérin went on steadily. "I am here with a message for Mademoiselle Rachel Nay, that sweet girl----" "That name is hers no longer. Also you will keep your compliments until I ask for them," interrupted the other, savagely. "You are her husband; that is true enough. To you I bear a message also. Yet I can scarcely call it that, since what I am about to propose to you is entirely an idea of my own, and which I should like to mention in the interests of my friend Monsieur Nicolas La Hire. It is of a most unusual nature. Here it is. Rachel married you believing that you were at Death's door. But the door wouldn't open. Good for you, bad for her, bad for Nicolas, whom she loves. Now, La Hire loves this girl; she is as indispensable to his happiness as your money is to yours. Mark that." There was a pause. Then Mansart said, "What do you mean?" "That I have come to offer to restore to you these papers, which represent the fortune which you have bestowed upon your wife. Ah! not so quick. There is one condition attached. You must release this girl." A terrible light of joy leaped into Simon's face, but it died away instantly. "The thing is impossible," he said. "She is my wife; we were lawfully wedded, remember. How, then, can I release her? How can she be wedded to another?" "Yet La Hire has sworn that only as her husband will he kiss the lips of his love again." "But, monsieur, how can it be? See for yourself!" Vétérin continued, imperturbably:-- "Certainly, if I restore to you these papers, which I am sure you would be glad to get back, that would scarcely break the bond between you and Rachel; yet I am about to yield them to you. It follows, then, that you will still call her your wife and enjoy your own as well? I am afraid that it does, but there is an 'if' in the case; for though I am perfectly willing to give you these papers, yet it is just possible that they may cost you your life." "My life!" "Precisely." Mansart crouched back. "You are threatening me?" said he, hoarsely. "By no means. Look here." Vétérin advanced to the table, upon which he emptied a handful of small counters. "There are thirteen of them," he said. "You will perceive that twelve of them are white and that the other is red. Will you count them?" "Oh, I take your word for it."