thing made a strange, cackling noise from its throat, and I knew it was Majolais. And as I looked upon the dwarf a strange feeling, it was almost gladness, came upon me. Hideous, hardly human as he was, I had at least found one whom I knew, one who, in his own wild way, had shown a savage affection for me for little kindnesses done. “Majolais!” I cried softly. The dwarf started. His eyes flashed as he crouched backward, peering into the darkness, and the moonlight played on the shining blade of a dagger in his hand. “Majolais! It is I--Vibrac,” and rising, I approached him, but he had already recognized my voice, and was at my feet, his frame trembling, his poor, dumb throat choked with sobs. I let the fit pass him, patting him gently on the shoulder as if he were a dog, and for one brief moment, in the thought of another’s sufferings, I forgot my own. We sat down together on a fallen rafter, where the moon fell brightly on us, and I tried to talk to him and to get him to explain, by signs if possible, how he had escaped from Achon; but though he understood me he could not explain to me. He unwound the scarf to show me his mutilated head, and on his body and upon his arms were the cruel welts of the lash. These he showed me, moaning and gibbering, and at each mention of Achon’s name he snarled like a tiger-cat. I sat on a fallen rafter, Majolais crouching at my feet, and we talked for long. At least, I spoke, and gathered what I could from his signs and the broken sounds he made. At last the moon sank and the dark hours came. The dwarf drew the remnants of his cloak over his shoulders, and, curling himself up like a dog, fell asleep. But there came no rest for me, and with burning eyes I sat staring through the darkness, where the black shadows took the form and substance of mocking devils, that flitted backward and forward, gibing at my fall. I had lost all. Wherever I went the shadow of my sin would dog my footsteps. I had diced for my soul with the fiend, and lost. Is there one who can win at that game? Death! Yes, death offered its release; but I could not die by my own hand. It would set the seal to my infamy; and then, there was another life beyond the grave. I tried once more to pray for health and strength, but a feeling I could not restrain choked the words on my lips. For very shame I could not pray. I could not creep before God’s throne to ask back what I had thrown away with both hands. As I sat thus Majolais shivered and moaned. Poor wretch! The cold struck him sorely, and removing my cloak, I cast it over him while he slept. I then drew my doublet closer together, and in doing so my fingers touched something soft. I took hold of it, and the faint fragrance of violets came to me. It was the remains of the little offering Yvonne de Mailly had made to me.