“Mademoiselle, to my sorrow and regret, I acknowledge it. Yet I beg to assure you that not even the fear of imprisonment or death would have made me consent, had I not believed that I was doing a lady a service.” “Do you think you do any lady a service by forcing her into the arms of Marquis du Trémigon?” “But if she loves him?” “Monsieur,” she said hotly, “she hates him!” “Is it possible?” “You have been grossly deceived. The only consent necessary to the marriage is my own. My grandfather has not withheld his consent. He has left it entirely to me.” “You, Mademoiselle?” I exclaimed, my heart leaping at the thought that she did not love that villain. “I have refused and shall refuse. The whole plan is an attempt to compromise me, to force my consent.” Into what a scheme had I been betrayed! The sweat rose to my forehead. “Mademoiselle,” I cried, “for God’s sake acquit me of any such dishonor!” “I do, Monsieur, freely.” “I shall go back to du Trémigon and explain my appearance to him immediately. I shall compel him to give me satisfaction for this insult—an insult to you as well as to me. Your quarrel with him shall be mine. He will trouble you no more,” I added significantly. “Your plan is vain, Monsieur. I know the Marquis du Trémigon. You will find him surrounded by such a force as will paralyze your efforts. He will refuse to fight with you.” “At least I shall have the satisfaction of telling him what I think, and I shall go to prison if necessary.” “I would not have you suffer on my account, Monsieur.” “Mademoiselle, you are kindness itself. I deserve nothing whatever at your hands. If you could only believe in me, in my love for you, a little before I go——” “Monsieur, the circumstances are very unusual. That day you so bravely rescued me from those scoundrels and treated me with such chivalry, I knew you were not of the common people. Your dress indicated that, but my heart—my mind, that is—told me otherwise.” Her voice faltered, but she looked at me clearly with those glorious eyes of hers. “But when I found you here and thought you meant to degrade me, to force me into the arms of that villain——” “Mademoiselle!” I protested, “you cannot accuse me as I do myself. At least I can make amends now.” “But is there nothing I can do for you?” she asked. “Nothing. The papers, the obligations, the evidence against me, are in the hands of a notary. If he does not hear from the Marquis and myself tomorrow, he has orders to hand the packet to the Chief of Police.” “What do you propose to do, sir?” “To warn you. Beware of du Trémigon. Although he has failed in this instance, he will surely strive again to compromise your honor. There will be one ray of comfort in my soul, that I have again been able to render some slight assistance to you. And I cherish the hope, if you think of me at all, that you will bear in mind that I love you.” “But, Monsieur——”