man who sent you and ask him to come in your stead if he wants to frighten me. I am not afraid of women, you know.”
“You wrong me, Monsieur; I am not his agent. I am acting purely on my own responsibility, for myself alone. I have a personal object in warning you, but that is neither here nor there. Let me add that I wish you success in the undertaking which now interests you. You must believe me, though, when I say that you are in danger. Forewarned is forearmed. I do not know what steps are to be taken against you; time will expose them. But I do know that you are not to win what you seek.”
“This is a very strange proceeding,” began he, half-convinced of her sincerity.
“We are nearing Le Cateau, and I must leave you. The men of whom I speak are the Duke Laselli and a detective called Courant. I know they are sent to watch you, and they mean you no good. Be careful, for God's sake, Monsieur, for I—I—want you to win!” She was standing now, and with trembling fingers was adjusting a thick veil over her face.
“Why are you so interested in me?” he asked, sharply. “Why do you want me to win—to win, well, to win the battle?”
“Because—” she began, but checked herself. A deep blush spread over her face just as she dropped the veil.
“The cad!” he said, understanding coming to him like a flash. “There is more than one heart at stake.”
“Good-bye and good luck, Monsieur,” she whispered. He held her hand for an instant as she passed him, then she was gone.
Mile after mile from Le Cateau to Quevy found him puzzling over the odd experience of the night. Suddenly he started and muttered, half aloud:
“By thunder, I remember now! It was she who sat beside him in the carriage this morning!”
VIII. THE FATE OF A LETTER
At Quevy the customs officers went through the train, and Quentin knew that he was in Belgium. For some time he had been weighing in his mind the advisability of searching the train for a glimpse of the duke and his
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