“Why, then, are you here? What are you doing in the Marquis du Trémigon’s clothing? What is that you hold?” I thoughtlessly lifted my hand. “My slipper!” she exclaimed, flushing in her turn. “You have been in my closet yonder. What does it all mean?” “I will speak!” I replied desperately, resolved to make a clean breast of the whole affair. “I am in the power of the Marquis du Trémigon. I owe him money.” “Heaven help you!” “I am surprised to hear you say that!” I exclaimed in amazement. “Monsieur,” she said quickly, disregarding my remark, “my purse is on the table. Let me discharge my obligation. Take what you will.” “Mademoiselle, for God’s sake, think not so unkindly of me! He threatened me with imprisonment for debt. That is nothing, a mere bagatelle. I could have borne that without hesitation. I have broken prison before.” “Well?” “There is more. When I escaped from the British prison-ship I was penniless; alone in England. I halted the first traveler I met, thinking to despoil the enemy for my needs as an act of war. That traveler happened to be the Marquis du Trémigon. I met him afterward at—at places where they play in Paris,” I went on. “He won all my money, a ring I had taken from him and a coin which bore certain markings. These things were proofs positive. He threatened to charge me with highway robbery. The punishment is death. I pleaded with him, promising to repay him if he would give me time. Our minister is absent, Commodore Paul Jones not in Paris. I was desperate. I loved life, Mademoiselle, for it held you as a possibility.” “But that you should come here, Monsieur? How does that——?” “Hear me, Mademoiselle. The Marquis du Trémigon has informed me of the nature of the agreement regarding your proposed marriage.” “And what did Monsieur du Trémigon say as to that?” “That by the terms of the contract three people must consent willingly before the marriage can take place.” “Three, Monsieur?” “He said so.” “And those are?” “Yourself, your grandfather and himself.” Her lip curled. “Proceed, Monsieur. This is most interesting.” “He said further that you were—forgive me—anxious to marry him.” I could see Mademoiselle clench her hand. I could mark the flash of her eye. “That he was anxious to marry you, but that your grandfather refused his consent. And that, with your approval, he had arranged to”—it was a deeply humiliating thing to say with her standing before me like an outraged goddess, but I had to go on—“to compromise you with him so that your grandfather would no longer withhold his consent.” “And you were to be the means whereby this plan was to be carried out?” “To my shame I admit it. I agreed to come here and take some article belonging to you of a personal character.” “My slipper?” “That or whatever else I could secure. I wore his clothes because he wished the servants to recognize them, and thus be prepared to swear that he was with you.” “’Tis a pretty plot for a gentleman!”