“Mademoiselle,” at last began Éspiau in a voice in which sorrow and affection strove for the mastery. “Judge me not,” said Mademoiselle quickly. “Who is that man?” I thought now it was time for me to make my entrance. I opened the door, therefore, and presented myself. “My name is Francis Burnham, my good fellow. I am an officer in the American Navy.” “How came you here and what would you do?” “That scoundrel du Trémigon sent him here to compromise me,” the Countess interposed. “The dastard!” exclaimed the servant. “But Monsieur did not think it was I,” continued Mademoiselle. “You remember when I went on that errand for Her Majesty the Queen?” I started at this. Éspiau nodded. “This gentleman had the good fortune to save me from capture then. I should have been robbed of those papers. I found him here this evening. He had abjured his errand and was upon the point of departure when——” “My friend,” I interrupted, “what Mademoiselle says is absolutely true, and I believed, furthermore, that I was doing her a service.” “I need not your assurance for that, Monsieur,” said the old man proudly; “the house of de Rivau does not lie.” “I wish the same might be said of the house of du Trémigon; but be that as it may, I am not anxious to forfeit any man’s good-will.” “Not even that of a servant?” he interrupted. “Not even that. It was a case of life or death for me. I am in du Trémigon’s power. Not knowing that it was Mademoiselle—for I did not learn until this evening that she was Comtesse de Villars—I came. I am sorry. I am going back to give myself up to the Marquis. You may guess what that will mean.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Before I go, allow me to express my gratitude for your forbearance. You have saved my life. The Duke would have killed me, for I should have made no resistance.” “It was death for me to see you there, to suspect—but Mademoiselle will forgive me——” “There is no need, my good Éspiau,” said the Countess, extending her hand. The old man kissed it like a gentleman. Indeed, I dare say, compared to du Trémigon, and others that I had met in Paris, he was as fine a gentleman as any of them. “I should like to shake you by the hand,” I said. “Monsieur honors me,” said Éspiau. I didn’t know whether there was sarcasm in his voice or not, but we shook hands vigorously. “Mademoiselle,” I continued, turning to her, “there is but one thing for me to do.” “What is that?” “To wish you farewell and to go as I came.” “Wait,” said Mademoiselle, her hand on her breast. “I have something to say to you.” “At your service, Mademoiselle.” “Éspiau, can you trust me further?” “In everything, Mademoiselle,” said the old man. He was a well-trained fellow, with as much tact as discretion. He bowed to me, and I swear I couldn’t help it, I returned his bow as if he had been an equal, and he marched out of the room as stately as a grenadier. “Is there no way,” began the Countess hastily, “for you to escape du Trémigon?” “None.”