“He was Lucien’s servant, a faithful one,” she answered.

“At least he was faithful in some one’s service since he died in it, and I can honor him for that even though he deceived me.”

“You have told me so much you must tell me more,” she said, a persuasive tone in her voice.

She must hear the story.  Whether this man were honest or not she must make him speak.  Whatever plot was on foot she must know it.  To some one surely Lucien had given the gold star.  Much must depend on her receiving the message he had sent with it.

“You must tell me,” she repeated.

“And knowing far more than I do you may laugh at me for a simple gentleman easily fooled.  Still, he is something of a hero who can stand being laughed at.  Many years ago I had that from a countryman of yours, the Marquis de Lafayette.  I was on my way to visit him in Paris, when this mission was thrust upon me.”

Concisely but in every detail Barrington told her what had happened at Tremont, and explained how he had become acquainted with Monsieur le Comte at Beauvais.  He made no attempt to conceal the fact that he had come to France to place himself at the disposal of Monsieur de Lafayette.  If there were any risk in telling this woman so, he was rather relieved to have real danger to face instead of lying and intrigue; the one he might meet successfully, but he was no adept in battling with the other.

“You took the star from Rouzet’s coat after he was dead you say, are you sure it was a gold star you took?”

“I made certain by looking at it.”

“And you can thoroughly trust your servant?”

“As myself, mademoiselle.”

“You have not told me your name,” she said.

“Richard Barrington,” he answered, and then he laughed a little.  “Why I trust you, I do not know.  I may be putting it into your power to do me a great deal of harm.”

“If I have the power, I shall not use it,” she answered.

There was a moment coming when she would have to decide whether these words constituted a promise given without reservation, or whether the promise were contingent on his being honest, as now she believed him to be.

“For that I thank you,” he returned.

“And you have my thanks for coming to Beauvais.  That you have been robbed only makes it clearer how bitter Lucien’s enemies are.  Have you any plan, Monsieur Barrington, by which I could reach Paris in safety?”

The question set his thoughts rushing into a new channel.  He felt suddenly responsible for her, knew that to prevent her going even into the shadow of harm he was prepared to face any danger.  It was not her beauty which influenced him, a moment ago he had been ready to despise it if she were a deceitful woman; something more subtle than her beauty appealed to him, herself, the revelation of herself which was in her question.

“It is impossible for you to go to Paris, mademoiselle.  The crowd of refugees in this chateau is proof enough that the danger is too great.  How any man, no matter what his need may be, could ask you to put yourself in such jeopardy, I cannot understand.”