“Mademoiselle, if I had met you under happier circumstances, I should have made it my prayer to live for you. Now at least I can die for you, and I trust that my death will redeem this disgrace upon my name.” I laid the little slipper softly on the table. I kissed it tenderly, reverently, before I put it down. I stepped nearer to her. She stood, as if paralyzed, gazing upon me. There was a flush in her cheeks; her bosom heaved. I sank at her feet and took her hand. It was icy cold. Mine was burning. I kissed it fervently and rose. “Farewell,” I said, and then heard sounds, footsteps in the hall, a knock at the door of the anteroom through which I had to pass in order to make my escape. IV THE SLIPPER IS BESTOWED I made a swift movement toward the door, intending to rush to the window, no matter who barred the way. I reached for my sword as I did so. Quick as I was, Mademoiselle was quicker. Although her face had gone white at the noise, she had instantly begun to sing—strange action, for which I could then see no excuse. Still lilting lightly a charming little air, she stood between me and the door. “Not that way!” she whispered in the breaks of the song. “It would be death. In there.” She pointed toward her bedroom. The knocking was resumed, this time more loudly. A voice cried: “Countess Gabrielle!” Her check of me had spoiled my chance. There was nothing but obedience. I slipped into the bedroom and closed the door. The song broke off suddenly. I could hear distinctly all that was said. Mademoiselle raised her voice, crying: “Who is there?” “Your grandfather,” was the answer. “Enter, Monsieur.” “The door is locked.” How I blessed that lock! So, I doubt not, did Mademoiselle. She went slowly to the antechamber, fumbled at the lock a few moments, and opened the door. I heard two people enter. “Wait, Messieurs!” cried Mademoiselle as she caught sight of the second visitor. “I was preparing to retire.” With marvelous quickness she had taken off her bodice after I had entered the bedroom, and was bare-necked and armed before her grandfather. She hastily slipped on a dressing-robe and once more turned to him. “’Tis only Éspiau,” said the Duke quickly. “I am very glad indeed,” said Mademoiselle, with a gay little laugh, “for you caught me quite unaware.” “Was I mistaken or was there a tremble in her voice? Her situation was grave. Had the Duke discovered me, he would have killed me out of hand, unless I inflicted a like penalty upon him, which, under the circumstances, never entered my mind. “I thought,” continued the old Duke as he entered the boudoir, “that I heard voices.” He looked around suspiciously. “You did, Monsieur,” answered the Countess. “Great heavens!” thought I, “are you about to betray me?” “Whose?” went on the old man again. “Mine; I was singing.”