charcoal-burner’s cabin. He could just make out its black outlines in a clearing of the trees. André muffled his mare’s head and tied her to a branch, and then with naked sword crawled forward on hand and knees. Round the hut like a sleuth-hound he wormed his way, learning the ground, making absolutely sure no one lurked in this damp stillness. Positively not a soul, not a whisper. But the horror of the dead man and woman and this awful stillness had mastered him, and ten yards from the door he lay for some minutes watching, thinking. The hut showed no signs of life. What if “No. 101” were not there? What if the English officers had forestalled him and the papers were already gone? What if an ambuscade were concealed in that ramshackle cabin? Still he lay thinking, shivering, to start swiftly. The shutter in the cabin wall was being slowly pushed open. There was no glass in the window; a gleam of red light; some one was stealthily looking out into the night. André crawled on his stomach across the clearing and lay flat down with a sharp gasp. By the living God, it was a woman! A woman! Two drops of icy sweat dripped from his forehead on to the damp ground. A woman! Yes, he could see the silhouette of her hooded head and bust etched against the dull red light behind and the inky frame-work of the window, and she was thinking too, resting her elbow placidly on the sill. A woman! It was terrible, for she was a traitor and he must kill her, here in this cursed cabin, in this damned wood. She moved her head and listened intently. Yes, she was expecting some one. Ha! He was not too late. The shutter was stealthily closed, but crouching beneath it André heard the faint sigh as of a weary heart. He sprang up, rapped twice on the door. Steps within, the bolts were being drawn back. At last a masked woman with a lantern in her hand stood in the doorway, and he and she faced each other in silence. “Who is that?” she asked in a clear voice. “I am from ‘No. 101’ to ‘No. 101,’” André answered firmly, but inwardly he trembled and his sword was ready to leap out. She raised the lantern quietly and let the light travel from his hat to his boots. “Good,” she said. “Enter, sir.” André paused. Could he dare? No--yes--no? For two slow minutes the thoughts battled within him as he strove to penetrate the secret of that mask and the hood covering her head. She was young--quite young. That faint sigh as of a