"Monsieur is very good. Farewell, monsieur. Goodnight. When," she asked, as an afterthought, "does monsieur intend to set out?" "Early, madame. Even though 'tis but little distance to my destination, yet I would fain be there and about the work I have to do." "If," Madame de Valorme said now, after observing with one glance from her clear eyes that her servants--who had now all descended and were directing the porters of the inn what baggage was to be taken into the house and what might be left on the top of the coach for the night--were out of earshot--"if monsieur seeks for peace and repose in Liége--though in truth it is not very like that such as he will require any such things in a French garrison "--and her eyes were on Bevill, while almost seeming to smile at him and at the knowledge of his secret, which he now knew she possessed--"I go to join some kindred whose house will be open to him. Monsieur has been a gallant chevalier to me----" "I beseech madame to forget any foolish, trifling service I have rendered her by chance." "I shall not forget, and"--though now she paused, and said next a word, and then paused again as though in hesitation and doubt, and still, a moment later, went on again--"and it may be that all service--all mutual service--is not yet at an end between us. If, as I believe, there is some----" "Some what, madame?" "Nay; I will say no more. Or only this: I, too, go to Liége about a work I have to do. A work"--and now she leant forward in the coach from which she had naturally not yet descended, while continuing in a low tone--"to which I am vowed, to which my life is vowed; a task in which so long as I have life I will not falter. And I have a hope, a belief, a supposition--call it what you will--that in you I may by chance light on one who can help me at little cost to himself." "I protest, madame," Bevill almost stammered at hearing these words, "I protest that----" "Listen, Monsieur le Blond," the Comtesse said, speaking so low that now her voice was no more than a whisper, a murmur, yet a whisper so clear that, by bending his head, the young man could catch every syllable she uttered. "Listen. Yet, ere you do so, promise me that no word I let fall, no thought I give utterance to, shall cause you offence, or, if I may say it, fear?" "Fear? I fear nothing on this earth. While as for the rest, I promise." "Enough." Then in, if it could be so, a yet lower tone, the Comtesse de Valorme continued: "As I have said, you are not what you seem to be. You are not le Capitaine le Blond for he was a kinsman of mine and I knew him well. I--I--a Frenchwoman--ah! shame on me, good as my cause is--only hope you may be----" "What?" "As faithful to my desire, my secret, when you learn it, as I will be to yours. If so, then all will be well!" "What else can madame believe I shall be? Speak. I will answer truthfully."