The woman reflected.  This was surely young Mershone’s voice.  And she had no excuse to deny him admittance.  Quietly she unbolted the door and allowed it to open an inch while she peered at the man outside.

“Oh! it is Monsieur Mershone.”

“Of course it is,” he roared, forcing the door open and stalking in.  “Who in thunder did you think it was?”

“A thousand pardons, m’sieur,” said Cerise.  “I must be cautious; it is your own command.  That you may be protected I deny admittance to all.”

“That’s all right,” said Mershone gruffly, while he stamped his feet upon the rug and shook the snow from his clothing.  “Haven’t you any fire in this beastly old refrigerator?  I’m nearly frozen.  Where’s Miss Merrick?”

“She is occupying Ma’m’selle Diana’s room, in the west wing.  Will monsieur please to come this way?”

She led him to her own little room, and so engrossed were they that neither remembered he had failed to rebolt the front door.

A good fire burned in the grate of Cerise’s cosy den and Mershone threw off his overcoat and warmed his hands as he showered questions upon the old caretaker.

“How is the girl behaving?  Tears and hysterics?”

“At times, m’sieur.”

“Takes it hard, eh?”

“She is very unhappy.”

“Ever mention a man named Weldon?”

“Often.”

“Humph!” He did not like this report.  “Has anyone been here to disturb you, or to make enquiries?”

“No one, m’sieur.”

“We’re safe enough, I guess.  It was a mighty neat job, Cerise, taken altogether, although the fools have been watching me night and day.  That’s the reason I did not come sooner.”

She made no comment.  Mershone threw himself into a chair and stared thoughtfully at the fire.

“Has Louise—­Miss Merrick, you know—­mentioned my name at all?” “At times.”

“In what way?”

“With loathing and contempt.”

He scowled at her savagely.

“Do you think she suspects that I carried her away?”

“She seems to know it absolutely.”

He stared at the fire again.

“I’ve got a queer job on my hands, Cerise, and I rely on you to help me,” said he presently, assuming a more conciliating manner.  “Perhaps I’m in a box, or a hole, or whatever else you like to call it, but it’s too late too back down now—­I must push ahead and win.  You see the case is this:  I love the girl and had her brought here to keep her from another man.  By hook or crook I’m going to make her my wife.  She won’t take kindly to that at first, perhaps, but I’ll make her happy in the end.  In one way this delay has been a good thing.  It must have worn her out and broken her spirits quite a bit; eh?”

“She seems very miserable,” conceded the woman.

“Do you find her hard to manage?  Does she show much temper?  In other words, do you suppose she’ll put up a fight?”