Victor grew pale.  There was a double meaning to this sentence.  Anne eyed him anxiously.

A disturbance at the table caught Victor’s ear.  He saw that the vicomte and the others were proceeding toward the stairs.  The vicomte was last to mount.  At the landing he stopped, looked down at the group by the chimney, shrugged, and went on.

Maitre le Borgne came in from the kitchens.  “If the ladies will follow me I will conduct them to their rooms.  A fire is under way.  The wines and brandy and sugar are on the table; and the warming-pan stands by the chimney.”

“Anne,” said madame, “go you to the room with the host.  I will follow you shortly.  I have something to say to Monsieur de Saumaise.”

There was a decision in her tones which caused Victor to experience a chill not devoid of dread.  If only he could read the face behind the mask!

Anne followed Maitre le Borgne upstairs.  Victor and madame were alone.  He waited patiently for her to speak.  She devoted some moments absently to crushing with her boot the stray pieces of charred wood which littered the broad hearthstone.

“Victor,” she said of a sudden, “forgive me!”

“Forgive you for what?”

“For innocently bringing this trouble upon you, for endangering your head.”

“Oh, that is nothing.  Danger is spice to a man’s palate.  But will you not remove your mask that I may look upon your face while you speak?” There was a break in his voice.  This unexpected meeting seemed to have taken the solids from under his feet.

“You have been drinking!” with agitation.

“I have been striving to forget.  But wine makes us reckless, not forgetful.”  He rumpled his hair.  “But will you not remove the mask?”

“Victor, you ought never to look upon my face again.”

“Do you suppose that I could forget your face, a single contour or line of it?”

“I have been so thoughtless!  Forgive me!  It was my hope that many months should pass ere we met again.  But fate has willed it otherwise.  I have but few words to say to you.  I beg you to listen earnestly to them.  It is true that in your company I have passed many a pleasant hour.  Your wit, your gossip, your excellent verses, and your unending gaiety dispelled many a cloud of which you knew nothing, nor shall know.  When I fled from Paris there was a moment when I believed you to be guilty of that abominable crime.  That grey cloak; I had seen you wear it.  Forgive me for doubting so brave a gentleman as yourself.  I have learned all.  You never spoke of the Chevalier du Cevennes as being your comrade in arms.  That was excessive delicacy on your part.  Monsieur, our paths must part to widen indefinitely.”

“How calmly you put the cold of death in my heart!” The passion in his voice was a pain to her.  Well she knew that he loved her deeply, honestly, lastingly.  “Gabrielle, you know that I love you.  You are free.”