“Marie, I love you. Come with me, and let us end this life of misery for you and for me. You love me--” “I have never said so----” “Does man or woman ever need to be told that, Marie? You have saved my life. Let me devote that life to you, and give you life and happiness. I will leave Paris to-night. There is a wicket gate in the gardens of the Louvre beyond the riding school. I have the key. Meet me there at compline, and when the sun rises to-morrow we will be safe from pursuit, and then, Marie--and then--happiness for you and for me----” I stopped, for her face was as marble, and with a shiver she murmured to herself, “What shall I do? What shall I do?” “Marie!” I began; but she stayed me with a gesture, and putting her hands on my shoulders, looked straight into my eyes. “Vibrac, you know not what you say. You are as mad as I am. Think what this will mean to you and to me! Think what the world will say!” “I have thought, and I care not. What is the world to me, or I to the world? I am not mad. Let me save you from a life you hate. I will save you--there is not one who shall stand between me and the woman I love.” “You love?” Her voice was so low the words might have been a whisper. “Aye, love! And with a love you do not dream of, dear.” “It will spoil your life--I cannot--I cannot!” “Marie! it will make my life--come!” She said nothing, but stood still as a stone, her bosom heaving, and her eyes wet with tears. I tried to draw her towards me, to kiss her, but she shrank back. “Not now,” she whispered, and my arm dropped to my side, and we stood gazing at each other, two wandering souls that had passed out into the unknown seas. At last she spoke again, her words coming slowly and with an effort. “You will never regret, Vibrac? Will you?” “My queen! Can you ask?” And bending low I touched her hand with my lips. She drew back once more quickly, and pulling her hood up, held the folds at her neck with her hand as she said: “I must go--let me go now.” “Until compline--and you will be at the wicket gate?” She but bent her head in reply, and turned as if to go. It was at this moment that we heard voices in the corridor outside, and then a hurried knocking at the door. Marie ran back to my side with a little gasp. “They are come to take you--oh, Vibrac!” But there was no tread of spurred heels, no clash of arms, only that insistent knocking, and then a voice: “Vibrac! Vibrac! It is I--Marcilly!” We two but glanced at each other, a guilty shrinking glance. Then springing forward, I took Marie by the arm, and almost dragged her across the room to where a curtained archway separated my study from a dressing-room. “In there! Quick!” I whispered; “open the door beyond, and go out by the private way; I will stop him here.”