dazed, or who but dimly understood. The Chevalier strode out sword in hand.
"For shame, Charles," she called to him calmly enough, though she was deadly pale, "here is some wretched mistake—"
"Yes, there does appear to have been a mistake—in the delivery of this precious billet. I will speedily make that right."
"Charles, Charles!"
He turned. Her bearing was full as proud as his. He looked from the woman to the paper in his hand.
"Well, if you know not this man, then he has wantonly insulted you. I shall await this Captain de Mouret by the water, and there I shall know the truth. He shall explain what means this pretty letter to my wife."
Jacques watched her proudly erect figure enter the door. He saw her sway a moment in indecision, then sink beside the bed to pray. She came shortly to the door again and called him. The fellow's brain worked slowly, and he had not yet comprehended the extent of mischief he had done. That he had done something amiss, though, he began to understand.
"You had that note from Monsieur le Capitaine de Mouret?"
"Yes, Madame."
"And he said deliver it to me?"
"To Madame Agnes de la Mora. Am I not right?"
"Yes, I am Madame Agnes de la Mora, but that note was not intended for me."
