Sunday Magazine/The Revelation

by Roy Norton

 

THE REVELATION

By ROY NORTON

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Drawings by Armand Both

"You Shall Answer for
That!" Shouted the Count.

WHEN the clink of accoutrements and the clattering of hoofs had died away on the boulevard there was a momentary silence around the almost deserted tables of the café, and then from somewhere in a darkened corner behind the palms a voice, rounded, but with a suggestion of weariness, recited the great English poet's lines:

I said to the rose. “The brief night goes
In babble and revel and wine.
O young lord-lover, what sighs are those,
For one that will never be thine?”

And then again the voice abruptly halted, leaving the lines incomplete, and the silence resumed like a thing that, driven back for the moment, had again entered with spell undepleted. Colonel Dunois, idly fingering the button of the Legion in his lapel, shifted a trifle in his wicker chair, and in his soft, well modulated voice, began to speak as if to himself, rather than to me, and intently I listened.

“The idle saber may hang upon the wall, and the soldier of France may come, like the condemned hulk, to rest in stagnant waters; but the memories of youth and the loves that have been one's own remain keenly alive and active to solace or wound when youth and love are gone. The day of 'babble and revel and wine'! The scent of flowers, the lilt of song, the snatch of poem well intoned, revive individual scenes and—” The chair creaked as he suddenly leaned toward me, and his voice was pitched in lower key.

“Once, when you gave me your confidence in an affaire de cœur, I smiled at your boyish fervor, thinking of my one and only wound of the heart through love. Although now it is but an episode, it was then life's tragedy. You would like to hear of it? Then, while the mood and the night are mine. I shall tell it to you.”

As though thinking of the beginning of his story, he paused for an instant, absently stroked his heavy white mustache and goatee, and gradually his eyes became reminiscent. I began to fear he was reconsidering such a rare intention, when his voice, still in that same low pitch, resumed.

I WAS the senior of the three officers,” he said, “known in the grand army legends by more or less distorted stories of daring as the 'Captains Three,'—Louis Lepard, Jean Villalon. and myself, Gaston Dunois,—and we rather prided ourselves on our close companionship and the sobriquet.”

In surprise I started; for in all of France there was no barrack room where the tales of their daring were not told to subalterns; nor had I known that my friend of the cafés was one of that famous trio. Without pause he continued.

“We knew no envy, and Dumas' Three Guardsmen adhered to the rule of 'All for one and one for all,' no closer than did we in that year when the war clouds, black and pregnant with strife, were lowering over Algiers. Legion after legion of troops had been massed there for months, until outside that substantial city of brick and stone had arisen another of weatherbeaten canvas, and the sullen inhabitants of the semibarbaric stronghold had grown accustomed to the sight of the uniforms that later they were to learn to fear. They had ceased to stare malevolently, and yet with wondering, eyes, at the silken dirigibles that moved here and there against the blue of the sky, displaying the fluttering banners of France, and their unrest and preparation were so carefully veiled that only the officers of the inner circles fretted at the delay. In the army's ranks apathy had succeeded enthusiasm, and time hung heavy in chains of endless, monotonous days. The horde of camp followers, confidently believing there would be no war, had swarmed down like pestilential insects to pauperize our sun tanned troops and render our task of discipline more difficult.

SUCH, then, were conditions on that day we Captains Three first saw Yvette Laurier, and it is she of whom I would speak. It was in the cool of the morning, and we inseparables had been attending a breakfast within the gray and timeworn city gates. There was a soft canter of hoofs on the battered pavements, a scattering of the half-nude Arab urchins, and she was upon us, superbly mounted and presenting a vision of Paris such as one might see on the Champs Elysées on a fair summer's day, a fleck of home galloping down between ugly foreign walls.

“As if by one impulse we came to attention and salute, and, as we halted at the wayside and raised bronzed hands to bronzed brows, she smiled and passed. I don't suppose we three comrades who had campaigned together for so many years were unattractive.—Villalon, with his determined face and thoughtful eyes, Lepard with his unequaled grace and reckless air, and I in my prime. Perhaps it was the sight of three officers together that caused her, after she had swept past, to turn and wave her riding crop. Anyhow, we again saluted

“'I must know her!' Lepard burst forth as we turned to pursue our course. 'And I am certain to do so!' Villalon added. I said nothing; but one straight look from her eyes had upset my peace—and therein was the beginning of sorrow. Although we had never been careless in uttering a woman's name, it was with unusual deference that we began these inquiries that were to disclose her identity. Somehow, as I recall it, the task was not difficult. It was Lepard who gained that honor, and, on one mild evening when we met at his tent for game and song, he told us of his success.

“'Comrades.' he said. 'our dream woman is Yvette Laurier, the niece of Count Jules de Laurier, a man of whom none knows save that he comes from a well known family. His fortunes are said to have ebbed in a Picardy venture, and he has rented a tumbledown palace here, presumably for his health. To-morrow I am to be introduced to him in his stronghold by Colonel Magnin. Drink to my good fortune!'

“We did so; but not without some envy, I am sure, of that good natured kind that may exist among friends.

“He kept that appointment, to come back raving over the charms of Yvette and betraying by his words that he was fairly enmeshed in a love snare of the kind that entraps men unawares; but he played fair, and had arranged that on the following night Villalon and I were to accompany him, be received, and pay our respects. And so at last the time of the meeting came and. with spotless uniforms, we advanced under the guidance of Lepard.

IT was a quaint old place that the Count had chosen for his domicile. Originally a Moorish palace built almost against the city walls, which frowned gray and ancient above it, it had been converted into an imitation of an Italian villa by a wandering nobleman of the house Ferrara. Through long disuse its grandeur had disappeared. Its tapestries were worn, its furniture decrepit, and its gardens neglected and overgrown: but to us it was Paradise, being the home of a houri. And in this setting we met Yvette, who was in herself an enchantment. From the moment she entered the salon, superbly gowned, unconsciously graceful, and very beautiful, to the time when I bent over her hand in a good night salute, I was in a delirium which the days were not to lessen. The Count himself proved austere, and in appearance was what might be expected from one of his famous courtly family.

“We were all strangely silent as we wended our way back to the camp after that first visit, more so than at any other time. Well, it was as if a new world had opened hospitable gates and given promise of undreamed of happiness, and night after night found us loitering through the Elysian fields bound by those ancient walls, where broken fountains glutted aimlessly, and the moon wrought lacework through the shadows of untrimmed trees. In all those first meetings we comrades went together, one striving to take no advantage through the absence of another; but there is, after all, a slight something creeps among friends where a woman is concerned, and this something came among us three in the early days of that contest wherein each hoped for victory over the heart of Yvette. I tried to struggle against this feeling, and have no doubt the struggle was triplicated. Yet, though we had fought through a dozen campaigns together, time and again had each risked his life for the other, gloried in the other's success, boasted of the other's prowess, and worked for the other's aims, it was difficult to share Yvette.

I AM sure I had no knowledge for many weeks that I was the favored one in the unaccustomed enterprise of love. The certainty came on that day of the grand parade, when Yvette, fair and smiling, sat with the General in the reviewing stand surrounded by a party of notables, and as my cuirassiers thundered past' clapped her hands and then in an outburst of warmth stood upon her feet and threw me her glove. It was against the technic of the corps and all discipline; but my grim followers cheered and flashed their sabers in salute when I wheeled my horse and at quick gallop recovered it from the ground and thrust it into my belt. The General frowned through a smile; yet had he sent for me I should have admitted my breach and accepted my just reprimand with an unbroken front, for to me the tiny threaded thing of common pelt was a relic beyond price and dearer far than a decoration from a King. A sacred memento which once had embraced a woman's hand!

“They came to me that night, Villalon and Lepard, trudging across the sands, arm in arm, erect, serious, and brave. They halted before the open door of my tent and bowed.

“'We have come, old comrade of ours,' they said, 'to congratulate you.' They had accepted the avowal of the glove as befitted them, Villalon with a quiet, 'There shall be no envy,' and Lepard with a frank outburst of, 'If it were other than you, my Gaston, I'd find the pretext to test his blade; but now my hands are lax and my only content is in knowing that it is one of us three.'

“He caught Villalon by the arm; they saluted punctiliously, turned squarely round, and went their way, leaving me alone with my air castles. From that time on they were my faithful allies in the siege for the hand of Yvette. And by my faith it was a siege stubbornly contested despite the promise of the glove; for there was yet the Count to reckon with!

“The Count was rather an object of mystery and a most peculiar man. Rumor, which usually has some foundation of fact, whispered that his income was sufficient to enable him to maintain himself and niece in a place as modest as Algiers; but that Paris was beyond his income. Although, by inference, he led those who visited the Ferrara palace to believe that he intended to remain for a considerable length of time and had taken a leasehold on the property, there was nothing more substantial to indicate his tenure. He made no attempt to rehabilitate the ruined gardens, to mend the fountains, or to renew the flowerbeds. The residence contained nothing, or but little, that was new, and owed its neatness to the supervision of its mistress rather than to any outlay of funds; but for a dot I cared nothing, so neither I nor my comrades made any inquiries of a financial nature.

SO insidious was the growth of gaming at the palace that I cannot now recall how it began. I do remember that when we three first went there we occasionally played for small sums, and as time went on we became painfully aware that the stakes were continually growing larger. I cannot even be certain that it was the Count who suggested the placing of a baccara table in the old salle d'armes; but I do know that those black paneled walls with their panoply of arms and warlike decorations looked down many a night on a table that was surrounded by French officers of nearly every rank, and that we came to play baccara chemin de fer because it required six packs of cards.

Always there will remain the mental picture of the Count, stately, reserved, dignified, and cold as polished steel when he had the bank. The long fine fingers would gracefully gather the cards and with amazing deftness shuffle and deal them until sometimes I was fascinated in watching their movement and the sharp flashes of the signet ring he invariably wore.

“At first Yvette appeared to dislike this gaming, and would remonstrate when a party of guests would break up and make its way to the hall, which she never entered. To me the dissipation of a throng presented an opportunity, and I would frequently put forth a brave endeavor to induce her to walk and talk with me alone in the silent gardens; but she had the air of the convent bred French girl and gave me no opportunity to press my suit as befitted a soldier of resource and daring. Indeed, I never talked with her alone. Lepard and Villalon whimsically took turns in chaperoning us, and thus by necessity we gained some small happiness. She was adroit and circumspect; hence our conversation never verged toward matters of the heart. Even the solace of a three-cornered companionship was cut from me as a maître-d' armes clips the rosette from some conceited pupil; for the Count discovered Yvette, Villalon, and me one placid night and in stern, uncompromising words forbade her ever again entertaining anyone in the garden unless he was present. So thereafter I hovered round as does a starving street gamin flatten his nose against a bakeshop window.

NOW, in small flight of time, there came a change.

Men came less frequently to the domicile of Count de Laurier. It was whispered softly between unfortunates that his fortune at baccara was too good; that while on some nights he lost, these partings were small, and that on nights when he won the winnings were great. That such happenings might be possible in all faith and honor was admitted, and none might affirm that he had ever known the austere host of the Ferrara palace to cheat; but in time the somber salle d'armes was deserted save by us Captains Three and the few to whose ears the dark rumors had not reached.

So marked was the defection that even the proud Yvette noted it and appeared distressed. As hostess of the house beneath the walls she exerted herself the more,—a smile here, a light touch of the white fingers on a sleeve there, and a coquettish glance at some boyish officer whose shoulder straps were yet of new-spun gilt untarnished by service. Such was her demeanor on those occasions when the Count's dinner board was tendered to us men of the French army. Ah, it was a pretty play and not without effect! But the evil stories would not down.

“It came home to me one night with force when, as I sauntered out toward our camp, I heard the ring of steel, and, drawn by the love of a play of blades, made my way toward the sound. There in the light of a court were four men who exchanged parry and thrust most vigorously, and I discovered that two of them were Lepard and Villalon busily engaged with two officers of the chasseurs d'Afrique who had dared to declare that Count de Laurier was nothing more than a professional gambler. I broke between and separated them and, after Lepard had given me a smiling explanation, declared that the fight was mine. The officers hastened to apologize; not, I believe, because I was the most dangerous blade in Algiers, but rather because they may have known of my love for Yvette. In a cabaret the incident was duly obliterated and wiped from the score; but the rumors did not die.

The Count Was Unmasked at Last.

“There was a period in which I had less time for Yvette, because every wind bore promise of war and our days were more closely devoted to fitting our veterans for service. It became certain that Algiers was to run red and that the struggle between fanatics and the men of France would be prolonged and cruel. Though I might not so frequently visit the house within the gates, I yet sent such tokens of my remembrance as I could obtain, now flowers, now some other trivial gift that might serve as envoy for my card. And my fortunes were at high tide; for just then news came that through the death of a relative whom I had little known I came into wealth beyond my dreams. We celebrated it, we three, as befitted those who considered the luck of one as the luck of all, and that night repaired to the home of Yvette.

IT must have been the intoxication of riches, of success and hope, that led me to play that night and once again challenge the chances of the salle d'armes. Save that we four were the only ones to breast the oval table, everything was unchanged; but I observed before a hand had passed that the Count had never appeared so calm, and somehow there flashed upon me the intelligence that he played to win. He did,—slowly at first, and then with steadiness as the stakes increased! Absorbed in our losses, we forgot all else in the effort to recoup; forgot that we were playing a gentleman's game and that the wagers were running absurdly high; almost forgot the girl outside.

“Lepard, always reckless and impetuous when losing, was the first to drop out. He drew back from the table with an exclamation of disgust and readjusted his collar and cuffs as though they restricted his purpling flesh.

“'I'm broke!' he said, and the Count stared at him without change of expression. Watching his eyes, I saw neither pity nor elation in their hard gray depths. With Lepard as the only spectator, we played another hand. Villalon's last goldpiece was lost, and he too straightened up, his serious face troubled and his eyebrows drawn into a frown.

“'Messieurs,' the Count said in his most even voice, 'among gentlemen—ah—you understand—your words are good if you wish to continue the game.' There was a soft insinuation in his voice, an invitation that was nearly a lure.

“Lepard started to draw his chair to the table again; but Villalon caught his eye and scowled disapproval. He answered for both:

“'No, monsieur le comte. I think our fortunes are at too low an ebb. We cannot play more.'

“Lepard, checked, drew back with a questioning look in his eyes, and for an instant the Count flushed. He passed it off with a laugh while I was wondering at the shade of red that had flashed across his lean white face.

“'Then, Captain Dunois,' he said, turning to me, 'suppose we finish the evening's play with écarté, which I have always considered the best of two-handed games. I suppose we need not stop, unless you—' the voice died in a question and there was something of challenge in it which annoyed me. Again Villalon tried to bring the game to a close; but after that covert sneer I should have played Laurier had the game involved life and death. So we rose and went to a smaller table for convenience. It was old and appeared more fit for the lumber room. It had a veneered top which was loose on my side and distracted me by occasionally catching my sleeve. And these trivial details were the ones that struck me in that time when I was boiling with suppressed anger!

“Villalon- and Lepard, as if anxious to stand by me, deliberately pulled their chairs over until they could oversee the play. The Count noticed it and frowned, and Villalon said in his calmest tone, 'I trust the Count does not object to our presence?'

“Laurier was put in a position where, had he wished, he could nave made no objection. 'Not in the least,' he answered; 'or, if you gentlemen are fatigued with the closeness of the room and wish, you may find Mademoiselle Yvette in the outer salon, and perhaps she will serve you coffee, of which she is so proud.'

“If he intended that for a means of getting them out of the room, his subterfuge was ignored, each asserting that he was too much interested in the outcome to think of leaving at the time. Laurier showed no disappointment; for his emotions were again masked behind a set face that nothing could disturb and nothing betray.

IT is difficult for me to recall the whirl of play that followed. Hand after hand passed, and, whatever the Count's luck had been in the previous game, in this it was noticeably bad. He played with the skill of a veteran and imperturbably accepted his losses, which gained in proportion as he doubled the stakes. He began to play with a certain hard desperation as he advanced the wagers until they had risen to heartbreaking heights, and still chance favored me and the kings were as if hypnotized to my hands and bent on ruining the man who had proposed the game. At last, when the gamble was of such proportions that none but a millionaire could afford to lose. I remonstrated. For the first time the Count openly showed anger.

“'Can it be that the winner of a hundred thousand francs,' he snarled. 'is afraid to play for fair stakes against the loser?'

“I was tempted to spring to my feet, so bitterly did the insult sting, and I too lost my temper. 'The winner fears nothing in the world,' I answered, 'and if monsieur le comte is so anxious to win will wager all of it that his adversary cares to cover! '

“I saw by the pallor of his face and the way he bit his lower lip that Laurier was furious with rage. Both Villalon and Lepard tried to interfere; but I silenced them, being too far beside myself to listen to reason. There was a tense moment in which the Count glared at me, and then, recovering his reserve, he said slowly:

“'I have eighty thousand francs left in my bank account. We shall play for that sum,' and stiffened up to deal the cards, it being his turn. He ran them through his fingers and then, in another outburst of ill temper sneered, 'That side of the table seems to be lucky to-night!'

“It was a full second before the significance of his remark dawned on me, as I fancied, and I thought of the loose veneering. 'If the Count believes that, he must change sides.' I retorted hotly; 'otherwise we play no more! I trust that nothing reflecting on honor is contained in that speech?'

“I had jumped to my feet, as had Lepard, and felt that coldness come over me that is one of my characteristics when the depths within me have been stirred. Laurier glanced up at me and then at Lepard, and at last shifted his gaze to meet Villalon's face, which was set into the hardest scowl I ever knew him to wear. Something unexpected happened. Lepard and I, watching, saw a duel of eyes. Villalon slowly sneered; the Count's eyes wavered and he rose.

“'Captain Dunois,' he said, bowing very deeply. 'I did not dream of offering insult or suggestion of unfair play. I spoke in the heat of the moment, and to convince you that I mean to do the amende honorable, will exchange seats if you wish.'

WE exchanged sides; but Villalon's face did not clear nor did his fixed stare at our host relax. The Count dealt the cards, and did not turn a king. Instead he faced a seven of hearts for trumps, the lowest he could have turned, and on looking at my hand I saw that it was almost invincible. I therefore made no proposals and forced the play by leading a king. Rapidly the white slips fell, and I won a vole. In silence I dealt, and another vole was mine, and then in the midst of a strain so intense that we could each hear the other breathe I won a point and the game on the Count's deal. As the last card fell he leaned back in his chair, and for the moment was but a defeated old man, haggard, palsied, and trembling.

“I was sorry for him. I did not wish to win everything from the uncle of the woman I loved. I would far rather he had won. I saw that he was hit hard, and should have said something had he not leaned far over the table and half-whispered words that made me draw away from him as from something vile.

“'The Captain.' he said, addressing me, 'has won every franc I have. He has long wanted permission to pay court to my niece and has feared to ask it. Dare he stake all his winnings against that privilege?'

“I think I should have struck him full in the face had not Lepard with inconceivable quickness seized my arm. 'Accept, comrade, accept!' he whispered. It is not your night to show fear of any hazard!'

“Slowly the blood rushed from my beating temples and with something akin to wonderment I looked into the Count's face. What kind of man was this, who behind the semblance of gentility would wager one of his own flesh and blood as so much dross? What had become of the chivalrous ideals of his line? What would the shades of departed noblemen of the great Lauriers think of this, their unworthy descendant, could they look down on hurt in this climax of ignominy?

“'Does the Count dare let his niece know of this wager?' I asked, frowning at him.

“For reply he rose from his chair and stepped to the door leading from the salle d'armes. Before I could realize his intention he had called her name. Before I could voice my protest she came, and he beckoned her into the room, bowing deferentially as she passed. We all rose as she entered, and we repeated his bow. Her face depicted no astonishment, rather a curiosity as she looked from one to the other as if seeking explanation.

YOU are to be made the wager in a game, my niece,' the Count calmly announced. I raised my eves and felt my heart sink. She had given no sign of indignation! The Count was speaking again, and his voice sounded distant and subdued through that heavier roar of blood within me which, torrent-like, set my temples throbbing. 'Monsieur the Captain, Gaston Dunois, wagers a hundred and eighty thousand francs against my permission for him to pay his addresses to you.'

“I waited for him to add that the proposal had been his, but he said nothing more, and some curious rebellion held my own tongue dumb. Her attitude was puzzling. She glanced at all of us disdainfully, as if it was a matter of small consequence and, following the quest of her eyes I saw that the Count was unperturbed. Lepard displaying his amazement, and Villalon watching her with the air of a judge who is about to pass sentence. Without hesitation she advanced to the side of the table, a trifle closer to my seat than the Count's, and said in a perfectly controlled tone. 'Proceed!'

“God only knows my sense of disappointment, my bitterness at the downfall of an ideal! Had she rebelled I should have defied the Count and told her that, inasmuch as she was of legal age, I should pay my addresses without his consent. Then, had he objected, I should instantly have challenged him; but this tame acquiescence of hers cut me like a rapier's thrust and hardened me for the moment. I resolved to give her one more chance to show whether honor was in her blood, and fell back into my seat and picked up the cards.

“Ah, that terrible game, where my happiness was at stake and a woman was the wager!”

WHAT need to detail the hands? In the first, by sheer luck, I won two points. Twice the Count won one. Then our fortunes swung backward and forward like the pointer on a dial of fate, until we stood four to four, and I was to deal the deciding hand, the one that was to give or lose me Yvette.

“It was my time to act I saw that she was watching me. I clumsily dropped a few cards to the floor as if by accident and then, when I arose with profuse apologies, laid in my lap so that she might plainly see them four kings I had worked from the deck. I flushed with my own guilt, and wondered what was in her eyes. I turned a low trump, and from across the board heard a long heavy gasp. The Count had almost collapsed in his chair, and then, quickly recovering, sat like a statue. He instantly proposed, showing he did not want that trump. In my lap was the king that best suited my hand and I refused, demanding that he play. For one tense second I thought he would decline, and then reluctantly he played a queen of trumps for his lead, which I answered with a king. Again he gasped and weakly answered my next lead, and—the game was mine!

“Simultaneously we four men were on our feet looking at Yvette. I waited for her to denounce me, praying to Heaven that she would, praying that she was the woman I had believed her to be, one who could not participate in dishonor. Against the background of the black wall with its massed weapons she stood, as fair a picture as painter ever dreamed. Her blond head was held high, her face was calm, her hands, unfluttering, rested at her sides. And then without hesitation she came toward me smiling and held both hands out as if confident of their reception.

MY God! The horror of that revelation!

This woman whom I had loved had first permitted herself to stand as a wager over a gaming table, had then watched me cheat, and now was ready to give herself into my arms! In that swift revulsion I retreated as she advanced. She stopped, and her face assumed a look I do not care to see again. It went rapidly from bewilderment to fierce fury, and her eyes blazed hard and cold. A silence, heavy and ominous, pervaded the room.

“'Yvette,' I whispered, and the sound was overwhelming, 'Mademoiselle Yvette, I—I—' my tongue had lost power of speech and rattled huskily in my straining throat. In one instantaneous mass the ideals of tradition, training, and heredity were upon me. My course was clear, and the thrumming of rudely torn heartstrings gave way to the militant strains of uncheckable truth and right. 'I cannot,' I said coldly, 'accept the privilege, and all it implies, that I have won—won here across a gaming table! A table stake was mine; but in playing for it I have learned that truth, that it is valueless.'

“I did not voice the thought that a woman who would come to a man under such conditions was unworthy the name of wife. I had no time; for behind me came the sound of a struggle that threw me on guard. Lepard and Villalon were holding the Count, who was vainly struggling for freedom.

“'You shall answer for that!' he shouted. 'You dare to insult Mademoiselle Yvette in my house and—' his voice died away as Lepard put a subduing hand across his mouth.

“'Silence!' Villalon shouted.

“Lepard released the hand, and the Count stood biting his lips and ceased struggling. Yvette, overcome by the violence of the scene, had lost her anger and stood with hands clutched before her in a semblance of fear.

“'There will be no further talk of outraged sensibilities,' Villalon said coldly, 'nor question of meeting to satisfy affront. Nor will any of us tell of this sad night's outcome.'

“He stepped over to the side of the table where the Count had sat when we played that game of fate, reached out his hand, and then paused and looked at me pityingly. He spoke as if to me alone when none other was present.

“'Gaston,' he said softly and with infinite affection in his voice. 'Gaston, I would that some other hand than mine was to complete your disillusionment; but even from a crying heart you will read my explanation aright. We have been mistaken in those we chose for friends.'

“His reaching fingers darted forward, caught the loose veneering by the edge, and in one snarling expose ripped it loose and threw it on the floor. There, snugly concealed, lay four kings in duplicate with which Laurier had expected to win. He picked one up and held it toward me. 'Of course they are marked.' he said, 'and moreover I saw from her eyes that Mademoiselle Yvette was aware of their existence. The Count had no opportunity to use them, hence she accepted the only alternative.'

“Yvette, frightened, had retreated until she leaned weekly against the wall, and the Count, unmasked, dropped into a chair and sneered through pallid lips.

“I dared not look at either of them; but clasped my arms through those of my comrades and staggered from the house beside the wall out into the night, bidding goodby to love. The ideal was broken, the dream was done.”

DUNOIS stopped for a moment, overcome by the memory of emotions. Then, as if something unquenchable had rushed from his heart to his lips, concluded, “So wayward are the ways of love that even then I could not forget. They slipped away from Algiers and from my knowledge. They were gone as completely as if that far stretched desert leading off into unexplored lands had opened and then closed barred doors behind them; but her presence was with me in the long watches of the night, clothed in purity as I had believed her. And then I would awake, as sometimes I do now that I am old, to stifle the reproaches of my yearning by recalling to myself that I at least saved my self respect and honor. And honor is no petty bauble to be cast at a wayward woman's feet!”