I remembered the room contained a closet. Nerving myself further, I opened the nearest door. On the floor, confronting me, lay a pair of small, worn, blue satin slippers with red heels. They were slightly shaped to the feet of the wearer from long usage. There were no other feet in the world that could wear those slippers, in all probability. I stooped and picked one up. It would serve admirably. III THE SLIPPER IS RENOUNCED With the slipper still in my hand, I turned to find myself confronting a woman! She was standing at the door leading to the antechamber. How long she had been there I knew not. Indeed, after the first start of surprise, I had room for but one thought. The woman was she whom I had rescued on the way to Paris, with whom I had fallen madly in love! For whom I had sought high and low—whom I had prayed that I might see again. She was looking at me composedly from under level brows. I observed that her hand was on the bell-cord. “Monsieur,” she said—and oh, how well I remembered her voice—“if you move, or make a sound, I pull the bell. My servants are within a moment’s call. You will be overpowered immediately.” “Mademoiselle,” I returned, disguising my natural voice as well as I could and thanking the Lord that my French was perfect, and that in the dim light, she did not recognize me apparently, “I am at your service.” “I wish,” she continued, “to talk with you. The situation amuses me.” She spoke as she might in the presence of some new spectacle. Her manner assured me that her interest in me was entirely impersonal. She was tired and bored. This was a new experience apparently which she wished to make the most of. I could think of nothing adequate to say, so I bowed profoundly. “What is your name and what are you doing here?” “My name, Mademoiselle, matters nothing.” In my agitation I forgot, and spoke in my natural voice. She started as she lifted the candle and looked keenly at me. “Why!” she exclaimed, “’tis the man of the highway!” I do not know whether I was glad or sorry to hear her say those words. At first I thought to deny it, but somehow it was impossible. “You have discovered me, Mademoiselle,” I said. “Then you were masquerading as a sailor. Now——” She looked me over from head to heel, and I have been told since that I made a brave appearance. Du Trémigon had displayed excellent taste in clothing, and this was his handsomest suit. I stood proudly erect, putting a bold face on the situation, with one hand upon my sword, my hat in the other, which also held the slipper, as if I were about to be presented to the King. “Now,” she said, “you are masquerading as a gentleman.” “Pardon, Mademoiselle,” I returned, “I am a gentleman”—she put up her hand, but I would not be denied—“masquerading as a ... thief.” I blessed her in my heart for her hesitation over that word.