[Illustration:  “Can you tell me where I shall find Mademoiselle St. Clair?”]

“You know her?”

“Only by the description I have had of her.”

“I wonder almost it was not sufficient to help you,” and a smile played at the corners of her mouth.

“Indeed, mademoiselle, I marvel at it, too, for I assure you the description was most complete,” laughed Barrington.

“From whom did you have it?”

“Pardon me if I am reticent on that point.  It was given in confidence.”

“You pique my curiosity.”

“But you know her, mademoiselle?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Cannot you guess how a man might describe her, with a desire perhaps to be a little witty at her expense, and inclined to exaggerate?”

“Indeed, I cannot.  Have you some message for her which I may deliver?”

“Again pardon, but I must speak to the lady myself.”

“So far I can help you.  If you will follow me, not too closely lest we cause comment, I will bring you to her.  I am supposing that you wish to see her alone, that what you have to tell her is a secret.”

“It is a secret, mademoiselle.”

“Follow me, then.  And monsieur will do well to note if any one shows interest in our movements.  We did not leave all intrigue and scandal behind us.”

It was easy to follow her.  She was a woman apart from all the other women about him, Barrington thought.  Although he had only seen her masked he would know her again, he believed, no matter in how crowded a world of women he might meet her, no matter how long a time should pass before such a meeting.  Obeying her, he glanced swiftly to right and left as he went.  Eyes certainly turned to look after the woman, once or twice indeed she stopped to speak a few words to some friend, but Barrington could not discover that any one took the slightest notice of him.

A few paces separating them they crossed the great hall, and she leisurely passed into the corridor without.  When Barrington stepped slowly into the corridor, he found that she had quickened her pace, and at the end of it she had paused a moment that he might see which way she turned.  He followed more quickly, and found her in a small vestibule, part of the old chateau.  A lamp was hanging from the corner of a wall, and on an oak settle were two or three lanterns with candles in them, such as a servant carries to guide his master or mistress on a dark night.

“Will monsieur light one from the lamp,” she said hurriedly.

“I am to wait here while you fetch mademoiselle?” he asked.  “Truly this is a secret place for delivering a message.”

“Not too secret,” she answered.  “I am Mademoiselle St. Clair.”

“You!”

The exclamation was a whispered one.  A confusion of thoughts was in his brain.  Already almost unconsciously he had laid the foundations of a dream fabric, and these were destroyed suddenly, burying him for a moment in the collapse.