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He had attracted the vicomte's attention through a picture he had exhibited, and as Spero admired painting, he paid a visit to the creator of the wonderfully natural painting. The picture represented a young gypsy who was playing the violin. The vicomte sent his father's steward to the artist with an order to buy the canvas at any price.

He pushed back his chair and, crossing his legs, leaned forward and pushed his fingers across the polished mahogany till they touched the base of a wine-glass beside his plate. One or two of the guests smiled at this formal opening. The Vicomte's eyes showed something of amusement behind their apathy. But all listened.

Lastique got out the oars, and Jeanne and the vicomte sat side by side watching the trembling, phosphorescent glimmer behind the boat and feeling a keen enjoyment even in breathing the cool night air. The vicomte's fingers were resting against Jeanne's hand which was lying on the seat, and she did not draw it away, the slight contact making her feel happy and yet confused.

The air, the constant labor, and the natural medicine which he inhaled in the forests, had given a nervous springiness to his step and had cleared his eyes till the whites were like china. No; the Chevalier need have no fear of De Leviston, was the vicomte's mental comment. "Well, you do look proper. The wine is all out of your system, and there is balsam in your blood. A wonderful country!"

Everyone seemed carried away with this strange fever of enmity, which was seething in the Vicomte's veins. Most of the young men crowded round De Marny, doing their best to pacify him. The Marquis de Villefranche declared that the matter was getting quite outside the rules. No one took much notice of Deroulede.

The first words were in Arabic, then the slow, soft voice lapsed into French, pure as the Vicomte's own. "Two hours south of the oasis with the three broken palm trees by the well.... Lie still, you little fool, it is useless to struggle. You cannot get away, I shall not let you go.... Why have I brought you here? You ask me why? Mon Dieu! Are you not woman enough to know? No!

On going over to the bed where the young girl lay, I found, to my surprise, that it was empty. I went to the vicomte's room and told him the girl had disappeared. The vicomte, without saying a word, hurried out of the house in a state of great excitement. Twenty-four hours have passed since then, and he has not been back since, and "

Go, I beg of you I will call you soon." Madame still resisted a little, perhaps for form's sake, but finally obeyed his wishes. The young man then sank on his knees, still holding Jane's hands. They remained thus, silent and motionless. From the touch of the Vicomte's hand Jane seemed to experience profound relief.

Brother Jacques had done a wise thing. On the morning after the vicomte's singular confession, he had spoken a few words to the Black Kettle. From that hour the vicomte made no move that was not under the vigilant eye of the Onondaga. Wherever he went the Black Kettle followed with the soundless cunning of his race. Thus he had warned the settlement of what was going on at the hunting hut.

You knocked a priest into the gutter that night as you were flying from the scene of your crime. I was that priest. But for the cloak and your remarkable nerve in putting it on, I should have remained in total darkness." "Beginning with a certain day, you will ever remain in darkness." The vicomte's face was not very pleasant just then.