"It will not matter, so long as I find the means for our escape; yet what other precautions are needed?" "Above all, that of your safety, since 'tis you alone who stand in danger; yet, still, some other precautions too. The Comtesse's following are all bestowed at the 'Kroon,' there being no place for them here. They must be warned to hold their peace until the Comtesse returns, as she may do--alone. And, further, there is that firebrand, Francbois. He cannot have the dust thrown in his eyes in one day. He must not know that, as you are gone, so, too, are we; or that we are going too. For that would arouse his suspicions once more, and suspicion with him would lead to deadly action. Also I must see old Karl, and bid him leave open a door in the Weiss Haus and in the stable too, and--and provide sustenance for you. Our knight," she added softly, "must not die for want of nourishment." "You think of all--of all others but yourself," Bevill murmured. "Ah, no! I think only that he who risks his life for me should have that life cared for by me." After which, since perhaps she did not desire that this portion of the subject should be pursued, she continued: "When do you purpose putting your plan in action? When will you commence seeking shelter in what will be but a dark, gloomy refuge?" "At once--the sooner the better. If Karl can be warned by you to-day, then I will go to-night. If danger threatens from Francbois, it will not grow less by being given time to grow and thrive." At this Sylvia was herself silent for a moment, as though wrapt in meditation. Then slowly she said: "It may be best--very well it may. Francbois is away from home to-day; he sleeps sometimes at the Jesuit College----" "The Jesuit College? Is he a Jesuit?" "He may be, so far as a layman can be one, if that is possible. But I do not know. At least, he is greatly their friend, and is, Madame de Valorme thinks or knows, used by them for their purposes. It is in this that she has some hold over him which may keep him silent. The French do not love them." "And he is away from this portion of the city to-night?" "Yes." "So be it. To-night is the night of nights for me. If I can enter the Weiss Haus after dark, I will do so. I do but wait your word." CHAPTER XVIII. The Weiss Haus lay that night beneath heavy black clouds that rolled up from the west in threatening masses, and, of a surety, foretold rain ere morning. Also there was the feeling in the air of coming rain, of some storm that was swiftly approaching, or rather was close at hand. The earth of the flower beds exuded a damp, moist odour, the perfume from the flowers themselves--many of them tropical plants brought from far-off Dutch possessions--was now a faint, sickly one which spoke of what was near, while the leaves of the trees, after hanging lifeless for some minutes, would then suddenly rustle with a quivering noise as a cool, wet wind swept through them.