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I have a carriage waiting for you." Madame de Melbain rose at once. With a little gesture of excuse she drew Duncan on one side. "Wait here," she begged, "until you hear from me. Baron de Courcelles is my one faithful friend at Court. I am going to consult with him." "I shall see you again?" he asked. She hesitated. "Is it wise?" she murmured.
"She has been inciting me to bold deeds," Wrayson said. "How should you like to be carried off in mediaeval fashion married, willing or unwilling?" "Is that what Madame de Melbain has been recommending you to do?" she asked. He nodded. "Yes! And I am thinking of taking her advice," he said coolly.
They spoke of this divorce case which has lasted so long; they spoke of it as about to be finally decided. There was some fresh evidence about to be produced, a special court was to be held." Madame de Melbain turned, if possible, a shade paler. "Yes!" she said slowly, "I have heard of that. We have all heard of that. I want to tell you, Mr. Wrayson, what that fresh evidence consists of."
Madame de Melbain was silent for several moments. She seemed to be thinking. Louise's face was expressionless. She had made one attempt to check Wrayson, but recognizing its futility she had at once abandoned it. From below in the valley came the faint whir of the reaping machines, from the rose garden a murmur of bees.
"Barnes was murdered when in a few hours he would have parted with those letters to your enemies; Bentham was murdered when he was on the point of discovering them! There is some one working for you, guarding you, who desires to remain unknown. I wonder!" He stopped short. A sudden illumining idea flashed through his mind. He looked at Madame de Melbain fixedly.
"Suzanne was right," she murmured, "there is peace here peace, if only it would last!" The Baron came hastily forward. He seemed to be eyeing Wrayson a little doubtfully. Madame de Melbain pointed down the avenue. "I think," she said, "that it would be pleasant to walk for a little way. Give me your arm, Baron. We will go first. Mr. Wrayson will follow with Louise."
An owl flew slowly out from the wood with ponderous flapping of wings, and sailed over their heads. Every one started: Madame de Melbain gave a half-stifled shriek. The strain was over. Louise and she were half sobbing now in one another's arms. "I will leave this fellow to be dealt with as the owners of the chateau may direct," the stranger said stiffly, turning to Wrayson.
They spoke of the journey, suddenly determined upon by Madame de Melbain on receipt of his telegram, of the beauty of St. Etarpe, of the wonderful reappearance of her brother. "I can scarcely realize even now," she said, "that he is really alive. He is so altered. He seems a different person altogether." "He has gone through a good deal," Wrayson remarked. She sighed. "Poor Duncan!" she murmured.
Wrayson, although no one could accuse him of a lack of savoir faire, found himself scarcely at his ease. Madame de Melbain; erect; dignified, and beautiful, sat at the head of the table, and although she addressed a remark to each of them occasionally, she remained always unapproachable. The Baron made only formal attempts at conversation, and Mademoiselle de Courcelles was absolutely silent.
He declared that I was altogether too young; my mother, on the other hand, was just as anxious to conclude the match. Eventually it was arranged that the betrothal should take place in six months and Frederick went back to Mexonia." Madame de Melbain paused for a moment.
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