It was a mad, pitiful letter, and in the blurred and hasty lines were words that could only have been written by a woman who for the moment had lost all power of reason, and was ready to leap into the abyss from which there is no return. I will speak no more of it. I should have destroyed it then and there, but that I too had lost all control over myself, and for the sake of Marie de Marcilly was ready to deceive my friend and beggar myself of my honor. When I thought of her and her unhappiness all thought of Jean de Marcilly was lost, although I had first seen war under him at the Escaillon and at Renty, though we had ridden side by side, the day he took “The Emperor’s Pistols,” though he had saved my life in the trenches before Thionville--though, in short, he was a brave and noble gentleman and my friend. At that moment, however, he was to me the man who stood between me and my love. I had not reached this stage at once. I had fought and struggled with myself and lost. And now I was ready to take the downward steps to guilt, and descending is always easy. It was in this frame of mind that I slowly folded the letter and put it back when the door opened, and Badehorn, my equerry, a stolid German, stepped in. “A lady to see monsieur.” “A lady!” I half stammered, rising from my chair, with the wildest thoughts running through my mind. “Monsieur!” “Show her in, please,” I said, my voice shaking, my hands stone-cold. Badehorn bowed and retired. For an instant I stood in breathless expectation, then the door opened again, and the woman I loved stood before me. I can see her now as in a mirror, tall and slight, with the fair hair and blue eyes that came to her from her English mother. The hood of the long, gray cloak she wore was thrown back, her cheeks were pale and the red gone out of the perfect bow of her lips. “Madame,” I began, hardly knowing what to say; but she came forward with hasty steps. “Monsieur de Vibrac--I have come to warn you. You are amongst the suspected--you must leave Paris at once.” “Monsieur de Vibrac,” I repeated a little bitterly; but she took no notice, and continued in the same quick, hurried manner. “Go! I implore you! Go! It will be too late to-morrow. They have taken the Vidame, and my--my husband has fled.” “Marcilly gone! And left you!” A rush of color came to her cheeks. “I warned him. It was the merest chance that I found out--and--and----” She made no answer, and then, with the room swimming around me, I dropped on my knee before her, and, taking her hand--it was as cold as mine--pleaded with all my soul. “Madame! I have got your letter, and I know now all your unhappiness--and I know, too, another thing--else you had not come here to save my life. Oh, Madame!” And rising, I stood beside her. “The world is not made for sorrow----” “You are mad,” she murmured, but her hand still lay in mine. I was mad, and she spoke the truth, and the desperate words burst from me.