The Helmet of Navarre

  XXVII

  _The countersign._

  Instantly two more men came running from the postern arch. The five wereupon us like an avalanche. One pinned my arms while another gagged me.Two held M. Etienne, a third stopping his mouth.

  "Prettily done," quoth the leader. "Not a squeal! Morbleu! I wasn'tanxious to have old Vigo out disputing my rights."

  M. Etienne's wrists were neatly trussed by this time. At a word from theleader, our captors turned us about and marched us up the lane byMirabeau's garden, where Bernet's blood lay rusty on the stones. Weoffered no resistance whatever; we should only have been prodded with asword-point for our pains. I made out, despite the thickening twilight,the familiar uniform of the burgher guard; M. de Belin, having baggedthe wrong bird once, had now caught the right one.

  The captain bade one of the fellows go call the others off; I couldguess that the job had been done thoroughly, every approach to the houseguarded. I gnashed my teeth over the gag, that I had not suspected thedanger. The truth was, both of us had our heads so full of mademoiselle,of Mayenne, and of Lucas, that we had forgotten the governor and hispreposterous warrant.

  They led us into the Rue de l'Eveque, where was waiting the same blackcoach that had stood before the Oie d'Or, the same Louis on the box. Itslamps were lighted; by their glimmer our captors for the first time sawus fairly.

  "Why, captain," cried the man at M. Etienne's elbow, "this is no Comtede Mar! The Comte de Mar is fair-haired; I've seen him scores of times."

  "The Comte de Mar answers to the name of Etienne, and so does thisfellow," the captain answered. He took the candle from one of the lampsand held it in M. Etienne's face. Then he put out a sudden hand, andpulled the wig off.

  "Good for you, captain!" cried the men. We were indeed unfortunate toencounter an officer with brains.

  "We'll take your gag off too, M. le Comte, in the coach," the captaintold him.

  "Will you bring the lass along, captain?"

  "Not exactly," the leader laughed. "A fine prison it would be, could afelon have his bonnibel at his side. No, I'll leave the maid; but sheneedn't give the alarm yet. Do you stay awhile with her, L'Estrange;you'll not mind the job. Keep her a quarter of an hour, and then let hergo her ways."

  They bundled my lord into the coach, box and all, the captain and twomen with him. The fourth clambered up beside Louis as he cracked hiswhip and rattled smartly down the street.

  My guardian stole a loving arm around my waist and marched me down thequiet lane between the garden walls. He was clutching my right wrist,but my left hand was free, and I fumbled at my gag. In the middle of thedeserted lane he halted.

  "Now, my beauty, if you'll be good I'll take that stopper off. But ifyou make a scream, by Heaven, it'll be your last!"

  I shook my head and squeezed his hand imploringly, while he, holding metight in one sinewy arm, plucked left-handedly at the knot. I waited,meek as Griselda, till the gag was off, and then I let him have it.Volleying curses, I hammered him square in the eye.

  It was a mad course, for he was armed, I not. But instead of stabbing,he dropped me like a hot coal, gasping in the blankest consternation:

  "Thousand devils! It's a boy!"

  A second later, when he recollected himself, I was tearing down thelane.

  I am a good runner, and then, any one can run well when he runs for hislife. Despite the wretched kirtle tying up my legs, I gained on him, andwhen I had reached the corner of our house, he dropped the pursuit andmade off in the darkness. I ran full tilt round to the great gate,bellowing for the sentry to open. He came at once, with a drippingtorch, to burst into roars of laughter at the sight of me. My wig wassomewhere in the lane behind me; he knew me perfectly in my sillytoggery. He leaned against the wall, helpless with laughing, shoutingfeebly to his comrades to come share the jest. I, you may well imagine,saw nothing funny about it, but kicked and shook the grilles in my rageand impatience. He did open to me at length, and in I dashed, clamouringfor Vigo. He had appeared in the court by this, as also half a dozen ofthe guard, who surrounded me with shouts of astonished mockery; but I,little heeding, cried to the equery:

  "Vigo, M. le Comte is arrested! He's in the Bastille!"

  Vigo grasped my arm, and lifted rather than led me in at the guard-roomdoor, slamming it in the soldiers' faces.

  "Now, Felix."

  "M. Etienne!" I gasped--"M. Etienne is arrested! They were lying in waitfor him at the back of the house, by the tower. They've taken him off ina coach to the Bastille."

  "Who have?"

  "The governor's guard. You'll saddle and pursue? You'll rescue him?"

  "How long ago?"

  "About ten minutes. The coach was standing in the Rue de l'Eveque. Theyleft a man guarding me, but I broke away."

  "It can't be done," Vigo said. "They'll be out of the quarter by now. IfI could catch them at all, it would be close by the Bastille. No good inthat; no use fighting four regiments. What the devil are they arrestinghim for, Felix? I understand Mayenne wants his blood, but what has thecity guard to do with it?"

  "It's Lucas's game," I said. Then I remembered that we had not confidedto him the tale of the first arrest. I went on to tell of the adventureof the Trois Lanternes, and, reflecting that he might better know justhow the land lay with us, I made a clean breast of everything--the fightbefore Ferou's house, the rescue, the rencounter in the tunnel, to-day'sexcursion, and all that befell in the council-room. I wound up with asecond full account of our capture under the very walls of the house,our garroting before we could cry on the guards to save us. Vigo saidnothing for some time; at length he delivered himself:

  "Monsieur wouldn't have a patrol about the house. He wouldn't publish tothe mob that he feared any danger whatever. Of course no one foresawthis. However, the arrest is the best thing could have happened."

  "Vigo!" I gasped in horror. Was Vigo turned traitor? The solid earthreeled beneath my feet.

  "He'd never rest till he got himself killed," Vigo went on. "Monsieur'shot enough, but M. Etienne's mad to bind. If they hadn't caught himto-night he'd have been in some worse pickle to-morrow; while, as it is,he's safe from swords at least."

  "But they can murder as well in the Bastille as elsewhere!" I cried.

  Vigo shook his head.

  "No; had they meant murder, they'd have settled him here in the alley.Since they lugged him off unhurt, they don't mean it. I know not whatthe devil they are up to, but it isn't that."

  "It was Lucas's game in the first place," I repeated. "He's too prudentto come out in the open and fight M. Etienne. He never strikes with hisown hand; his way is to make some one else strike for him. So he gets M.Etienne into the Bastille. That's the first step. I suppose he thinksMayenne will attend to the second."

  "Mayenne dares not take the boy's life," Vigo answered. "He could havekilled him, an he chose, in the streets, and nobody the wiser. But nowthat monsieur's taken publicly to the Bastille, Mayenne dares not killhim there, by foul play or by law--the Duke of St. Quentin's son. No;all Mayenne can do is to confine him at his good pleasure. Whencepresently we will pluck him out at King Henry's good pleasure."

  "And meantime is he to rot behind bars?"

  "Unless Monsieur can get him out. But then," Vigo went on, "a month ortwo in a cell won't be a bad thing for him, neither. His head will havea chance to cool. After a dose of Mayenne's purge he may recover of hisfever for Mayenne's ward."

  "Monsieur! You will send to Monsieur?"

  "Of course. You will go. And Gilles with you to keep you out ofmischief."

  "When? Now?"

  "No," said Vigo. "You will go clothe yourself in breeches first, elseare you not likely to arrive anywhere but at the mad-house. And then eatyour supper. It's a long road to St. Denis."

  I ran at once, through a fusillade of jeers from soldiers, grooms, andhouse-men, across the court, through the hall, and up the stairs toMarcel's chamber. Never was I gladder of anything in my life than todoff those swaddling petticoats. T
wo minutes, and I was a man again. Ifound it in my heart to pity the poor things who must wear the trappingstheir lives long.

  But for all my joy in my freedom, I choked over my supper and pushed itaway half tasted, in misery over M. Etienne. Vigo might say comfortablythat Mayenne dared not kill him, but I thought there were few thingsthat gentleman dared not do. Then there was Lucas to be reckoned with.He had caught his fly in the web; he was not likely to let him go longundevoured. At best, if M. Etienne's life were safe, yet was hehelpless, while to-morrow our mademoiselle was to marry. Vigo seemed tothink that a blessing, but I was nigh to weeping into my soup. The oneray of light was that she was not to marry Lucas. That was something.Still, when M. Etienne came out of prison, if ever he did,--I couldscarce bring myself to believe it,--he would find his dear vanished overthe rocky Pyrenees.

  Vigo would not even let me start when I was ready. Since we were toolate to find the gates open, we must wait till ten of the clock, atwhich hour the St. Denis gate would be in the hands of a certainBrissac, who would pass us with a wink at the word St. Quentin.

  I was so wroth with Vigo that I would not stay with him, but wentup-stairs into M. Etienne's silent chamber, and flung myself down on thewindow-bench his head might never touch again, and wondered how he wasfaring in prison. I wished I were there with him. I cared not much whatthe place was, so long as we were together. I had gone down the mouth ofhell smiling, so be it I went at his heels. Mayhap if I had struggledharder with my captors, shown my sex earlier, they had taken me too.Heartily I wished they had; I trow I am the only wight ever did wishhimself behind bars. And promptly I repented me, for if Vigo had provedbut a broken reed, there was Monsieur. Monsieur was not likely to sitsmug and declare prison the best place for his son.

  The slow twilight faded altogether, and the dark came. The city was verystill. Once in a while a shout or a sound of bell was borne over theroofs, or infrequent voices and footsteps sounded in the street beyondour gate. The men in the court under my window were quiet too, talkingamong themselves without much raillery or laughter; I knew theydiscussed the unhappy plight of the heir of St. Quentin. The chimes hadrung some time ago the half-hour after nine, and I was fidgeting to beoff, but huffed as I was with him, I could not lower myself to go askVigo's leave to start. He might come after me when he wanted me.

  "Felix! Felix!" Marcel shouted down the corridor. I sprang up; then,remembering my dignity, moved no further, but bade him come in to me.

  "Where are you mooning in the dark?" he demanded, stumbling over thethreshold. "Oh, there you are. Dame! you'd come down-stairs mighty quickif you knew what was there for you?"

  "What?" I cried, divided between the wild hope that it was Monsieur andthe wilder one that it was M. Etienne.

  "Don't you wish I'd tell you? Well, you're a good boy, and I will. It'sthe prettiest lass I've seen in a month of Sundays--you in yourpetticoats don't come near her."

  "For me?" I stuttered.

  "Aye; she asked for M. le Duc, and when he wasn't here, for you. Isuppose it's some friend of M. Etienne's."

  I supposed so, indeed; I supposed it was the owner of my borrowedplumage come to claim her own, angry perhaps because I had not returnedit to her. I wondered whether she would scratch my eyes out because Ihad lost the cap--whether I could find it if I went to look with alight. None too eagerly I descended to her.

  She was standing against the wall in the archway. Two or three of theguardsmen were about her, one with a flambeau, by which they were allsurveying her. She wore the coif and blouse, the black bodice and shortstriped skirt, of the country peasant girl, and, like a country girl,she showed a face flushed and downcast under the soldiers' boldscrutiny. She looked up at me as at a rescuing angel. It was Mlle. deMontluc!

  I dashed past the torch-bearer, nearly upsetting him in my haste, andsnatched her hand.

  "Mademoiselle! Come into the house!"

  She clutched me with fingers as cold as marble, which trembled on mine.

  "Where is M. de St. Quentin?"

  "At St. Denis."

  "You must take me there to-night."

  "I was going," I stammered, bewildered; "but you, mademoiselle--"

  "You knew of M. de Mar's arrest?"

  "Aye."

  "What coil is this, Felix?" demanded Vigo, coming up. He took the torchfrom his man, and held it in mademoiselle's face, whereupon an amazingchange came over his own. He lowered the light, shielding it with hishand, as if it were an impertinent eye.

  "You are Vigo," she said at once.

  "Yes; and I know not what noble lady mademoiselle can be, save--will itplease her to come into the house?"

  He led the way with his torch, not suffering himself to look at heragain. He had his foot on the staircase, when she called to him, as ifshe had been accustomed to addressing him all her life:

  "Vigo, this will do. I will speak to you here."

  "As mademoiselle wishes. I thought the salon fitter. My cabinet herewill be quieter than the hall, mademoiselle."

  He opened the door, and she entered. He pushed me in next, giving me thetorch and saying:

  "Ask mademoiselle, Felix, whether she wants me." He amazed me--he whoalways ordered.

  "I want you, Vigo," mademoiselle answered him herself. "I want you tosend two men with me to St. Denis."

  "To-morrow?"

  "No; to-night."

  "But mademoiselle cannot go to St. Denis."

  "I can, and I must."

  "They will not let a horse-party through the gate at night," Vigo began.

  "We will go on foot."

  "Mademoiselle," Vigo answered, as if she had proposed flying to themoon, "you cannot walk to St. Denis."

  "I must!" she cried.

  I had put the flambeau in a socket on the wall. Now that the light shoneon her steadily, I saw for the first time, though I might have known itfrom her presence here, how rent with emotion she was, white to thelips, with gleaming eyes and stormy breast. She had spoken low andquietly, but it was a main-force composure, liable to snap like glass. Ithought her on the very verge of passionate tears. Vigo looked at her,puzzled, troubled, pitying, as on some beautiful, mad creature. Shecried out on him suddenly, her rich voice going up a key:

  "You need not say 'cannot' to me, Vigo! You know not how I came here. Iwas locked in my chamber. I changed clothes with my Norman maid. Therewas a sentry at each end of the street. I slid down a rope of mybedclothes; it was dark--they did not see me. I knocked at Ferou'sdoor--thank the saints, it opened to me quickly! I told M. Ferou--Godforgive me!--I had business for the duke at the other end of the tunnel.He took me through, and I came here."

  "But, mademoiselle, the bats!" I cried.

  "Yes, the bats," she returned, with a little smile. "And my hands on theropes!" She turned them over; the skin was torn cruelly from herdelicate palms and the inside of her fingers. Little threads of bloodmarked the scores. "Then I came here," she repeated. "In all my life Ihave never been in the streets alone--not even for one step at noonday.Now will you tell me, M. Vigo, that I cannot go to St. Denis?"

  "Mademoiselle, it is yours to say what you can do."

  As for me, I dropped on my knees and laid my lips to her fingers,softly, for fear even their pressure might hurt her tenderness.

  "Mademoiselle!" I cried in pure delight. "Mademoiselle, that you arehere!"

  She flushed under my words.

  "Ah, it is no little thing brought me. You knew M. de Mar was arrested?"

  We assented; she went on, more to me than to Vigo, as if in telling meshe was telling M. Etienne. She spoke low, as if in pain.

  "After supper M. de Mayenne went back to his cabinet and let out Paul deLorraine."

  "I wish we had killed him," I muttered. "We had no time or weapons."

  "M. de Mayenne sent for me then," she went on, wetting her lips. "I havenever seen him so angry. He was furious because M. de Mar had beenbefore his face and he had not known it. He felt he had been made a mockof. He raged against me
--I never knew he could be so angry. He said theSpanish envoy was too good for me; I should marry Paul de Lorraineto-morrow."

  "Mordieu, mademoiselle!"

  "That was not it. I had borne that!" she cried. "Mayhap I deserved it.But while my lord thundered at me, word came that M. de Mar was taken.My lord swore he should die. He swore no man ever set him at naught andlived to boast of it."

  "Will--"

  She swept on unheeding:

  "He said he should be tried for the murder of Pontou--he should betortured to make him confess it."

  She dropped down on her knees, hiding her face in her arms on the table,shaking from head to foot as in an ague. Vigo swore to himself, loudly,violently: "If Mayenne do that, by the throne of Heaven, I'll kill him!"

  She sprang to her feet, dry-eyed, fierce as a young lioness.

  "Is that all you can say? Mayenne may torture him and be killed for it?"

  "I shall send to the duke--" Vigo began.

  "Aye! I shall go to the duke! I can say who killed Pontou. I know muchbesides to tell the king. I was Mayenne's cousin, but if he would savehis secrets he must give up M. de Mar. Mother of God! I have been hisobedient child; I have let him do so with me as he would. I sent mylover away. I consented to the Spanish marriage. But to this I will notsubmit. He shall not torture and kill Etienne de Mar!"

  Vigo took her hand and kissed it.

  "Shall we start, Vigo? Once at St. Denis, I am hostage for his safety.The king can tell Mayenne that if Mar is tortured he will torture me!Mayenne may not tender me greatly, but he will not relish his cousin'sbreaking on the wheel."

  "Mayenne won't torture M. Etienne," Vigo said, patting her hand in bothof his, forgetting she was a great lady, he an equery. "Fear not! youwill save him, mademoiselle."

  "Let us go!" she cried feverishly. "Let us go!"

  Gilles was in the court waiting, stripped of his livery, dressedpeaceably as a porter, but with a mallet in his hand that I should notlike to receive on my crown. I thought we were ready, but Vigo bade uswait. I stood on the house-steps with mademoiselle, while he took asideSquinting Charlot for a low-voiced, emphatic interview.

  "Must we wait?" mademoiselle urged me, quivering like the arrow on thebow-string. "They may discover I am gone. Need we wait?"

  "Aye," I answered; "if Vigo bids us. He knows."

  We waited then. Vigo disappeared presently. Mademoiselle and I stoodpatient, with, oh! what impatience in our hearts, wondering how he couldso hinder us. Not till he came back did it dawn on me for what we hadstayed. He was dressed as an under-groom, not a tag of St. Quentincolours on him.

  "I beg a thousand pardons, mademoiselle. I had to give my lieutenant hisorders. Now, if you will give the word, we go."

  "Do you go, M. Vigo?" She breathed deep. It was easy to see she lookedupon him as a regiment.

  "Of course," Vigo answered, as if there could be no other way.

  I said in pure devilry, to try to ruffle him:

  "Vigo, you said you were here to guard Monsieur's interests-his house,his goods, his moneys. Do you desert your trust?"

  Mademoiselle turned quickly to him:

  "Vigo, you must not let me take you from your rightful post. Felix andyour man here will care for me--"

  "The boy talks silliness, mademoiselle," Vigo returned tranquilly."Mademoiselle is worth a dozen hotels. I go with her."

  He walked beside her across the court, I following with Gilles, laughingto myself. Only yesterday had Vigo declared that never would he give aidand comfort to Mlle. de Montluc. It was no marvel she had conquered M.Etienne, for he must needs have been in love with some one, but inbringing Vigo to her feet she had won a triumph indeed.

  We had to go out by the great gate, because the key of the postern wasin the Bastille. But as if by magic every guardsman and hanger-about haddisappeared--there was not one to stare at the lady; though when we hadpassed some one locked the gates behind us. Vigo called me up tomademoiselle's left. Gilles was to loiter behind, far enough to seemnot to belong to us, near enough to come up at need. Thus, at a goodpace, mademoiselle stepping out as brave as any of us, we set out acrossthe city for the Porte St. Denis.

  Our quarter was very quiet; we scarce met a soul. But afterward, as wereached the neighbourhood of the markets, the streets grew livelier. Nowwere we gladder than ever of Vigo's escort; for whenever we approached aband of roisterers or of gentlemen with lights, mademoiselle shelteredherself behind the equery's broad back, hidden as behind a tower. Oncethe gallant M. de Champfleury, he who in pink silk had adorned Mme. deMayenne's salon, passed close enough to touch her. She heaved a sigh ofrelief when he was by. For her own sake she had no fear; the midnightstreets, the open road to St. Denis, had no power to daunt her: but thedread of being recognized and turned back rode her like a nightmare.

  Close by the gate, Vigo bade us pause in the door of a shop while hewent forward to reconnoiter. Before long he returned.

  "Bad luck, mademoiselle. Brissac's not on. I don't know the officer, buthe knows me, that's the worst of it. He told me this was not St. Quentinnight. Well, we must try the Porte Neuve."

  But mademoiselle demurred:

  "That will be out of our way, will it not, Vigo? It is a longer roadfrom the Porte Neuve to St. Denis?"

  "Yes; but what to do? We must get through the walls."

  "Suppose we fare no better at the Porte Neuve? If your Brissac issuspected, he'll not be on at night. Vigo, I propose that we partcompany here. They will not know Gilles and Felix at the gate, willthey?"

  "No," Vigo said doubtfully; "but--"

  "Then can we get through!" she cried. "They will not stop us, suchhumble folk! We are going to the bedside of our dying mother at St.Denis. Your name, Gilles?"

  "Forestier, mademoiselle," he stammered, startled.

  "Then are we all Forestiers--Gilles, Felix, and Jeanne. We can pass out,Vigo; I am sure we can pass out. I am loath to part with you, but I fearto go through the city to the Porte Neuve. My absence may bediscovered--I must place myself without the walls speedily.

  "Well, mademoiselle may try it," Vigo gave reluctant consent. "If youare refused, we can fall back on the Porte Neuve. If you succeed--Listento me, you fellows. You will deliver mademoiselle into Monsieur's hands,or answer to me for it. If any one touches her little finger--well,trust me!"

  "That's understood," we answered, saluting together.

  "Mademoiselle need have no doubts of them," Vigo said. "Felix is M. leComte's own henchman. And Gilles is the best man in the household, nextto me. God speed you, my lady. I am here, if they turn you back."

  We went boldly round the corner and up the street to the gate. Thesentry walking his beat ordered us away without so much as looking atus. Then Gilles, appointed our spokesman, demanded to see the captain ofthe watch. His errand was urgent.

  But the sentry showed no disposition to budge. Had we a passport? No, wehad no passport. Then we could go about our business. There was noleaving Paris to-night for us. Call the captain? No; he would do nothingof the kind. Be off, then!

  But at this moment, hearing the altercation, the officer himself cameout of the guard-room in the tower, and to him Gilles at once began hisstory. Our mother at St. Denis had sent for us to come to her dying bed.He was a street-porter; the messenger had had trouble to find him. Hisyoung brother and sister were in service, kept to their duties tilllate. Our mother might even now be yielding up the ghost! It was apitiful case, M. le Capitaine; might we not be permitted to pass?

  The young officer appeared less interested in this moving tale than inthe face of mademoiselle, lighted up by the flambeau on the tower wall.

  "I should be glad to oblige your charming sister," he returned, smiling,"but none goes out of the city without a passport. Perhaps you have one,though, from my Lord Mayenne?"

  "Would our kind be carrying a passport from the Duke of Mayenne?" quothGilles.

  "It seems improbable," the officer smiled, pleased with his wit. "Sorryto discommode you, my dear.
But perhaps, lacking a passport, you can yetoblige me with the countersign, which does as well. Just one littleword, now, and I'll let you through."

  "IT DESOLATES ME TO HEAR OF HER EXTREMITY."]

  "If monsieur will tell me the little word?" she asked innocently.

  He burst into laughter.

  "No, no; I am not to be caught so easy as that, my girl."

  "Oh, come, monsieur captain," Gilles urged, "many and many a fellow goesin and out of Paris without a passport. The rules are a net to stop bigfish and let the small fry go. What harm will it do to my Lord Mayenne,or you, or anybody, if you have the gentleness to let three poorservants through to their dying mother?"

  "It desolates me to hear of her extremity," the captain answered, with afine irony, "but I am here to do my duty. I am thinking, my dear, thatyou are some great lady's maid?"

  He was eying her sharply, suspiciously; she made haste to protest:

  "Oh, no, monsieur; I am servant to Mme. Mesnier, the grocer's wife."

  "And perhaps you serve in the shop?"

  "No, monsieur," she said, not seeing his drift, but on guard against atrap. "No, monsieur; I am never in the shop. I am far too busy with mywork. Monsieur does not seem to understand what a servant-lass has todo."

  For answer, he took her hand and lifted it to the light, revealing allits smooth whiteness, its dainty, polished nails.

  "I think mademoiselle does not understand it, either."

  With a little cry, she snatched her hand from him, hiding it in thefolds of her kirtle, regarding him with open terror. He softenedsomewhat at sight of her distress.

  "Well, it's none of my business if a lady chooses to be masqueradinground the streets at night with a porter and a lackey. I don't know whatyour purpose is--I don't ask to know. But I'm here to keep my gate, andI'll keep it. Go try to wheedle the officer at the Porte Neuve."

  In helpless obedience, glad of even so much leniency, we turned away--toface a tall, grizzled veteran in a colonel's shoulder-straps. With adragoon at his back, he had come so softly out of a side alley that noteven the captain had marked him.

  "What's this, Guilbert?" he demanded.

  "Some folks seeking to get through the gates, sir. I've just turned themaway."

  "What were you saying about the Porte Neuve?"

  "I said they could go see how that gate is kept. I showed them how thisis."

  "Why must you pass through at this time of night?" said the commandingofficer, civilly. Gilles once again bemoaned the dying mother. The youngcaptain, eager to prove his fidelity, interrupted him:

  "I believe that's a fairy-tale, sir. There's something queer about thesepeople. The girl says she is a grocer's servant, and has hands like aduchess's."

  The colonel looked at us sharply, neither friendly nor unfriendly. Hesaid in a perfectly neutral manner:

  "It is of no consequence whether she be a servant or a duchess--has amother or not. The point is whether these people have the countersign.If they have it, they can pass, whoever they are."

  "They have not," the captain answered at once. "I think you would dowell, sir, to demand the lady's name."

  Mademoiselle started forward for a bold stroke just as the superiorofficer demanded of her, "The countersign?" As he said the word, shepronounced distinctly her name:

  "Lorance--"

  "Enough!" the colonel said instantly. "Pass them through, Guilbert."

  The young captain stood in a mull, but no more bewildered than we.

  "Mighty queer!" he muttered. "Why didn't she give it to me?"

  "Stir yourself, sir!" his superior gave sharp command. "They have thecountersign; pass them through."