“You did this!” she cried.

“Mr. Ritchie and I together,” said the Vicomtesse.

Her next exclamation was an odd one, showing how the mind works at such a time.

“But his Excellency was having his siesta!” said Antoinette.

Again Helene glanced at me, but I cannot be sure that she smiled.

“We thought the matter of sufficient importance to awake his Excellency,” said Helene.

“And his Excellency?” asked Antoinette.  In that moment all three of us seemed to have forgotten the tragedy behind the wall.

“His Excellency thought so, too, when we had explained it sufficiently,” Helene answered.

The girl seemed suddenly to throw off the weight of her grief.  She seized the hand of the Vicomtesse in both of her own.

“The Baron pardoned him?” she cried.  “Tell me what his Excellency said.  Why are you keeping it from me?”

“Hush, my dear,” said the Vicomtesse.  “Yes, he pardoned him.  Mr. Temple was to have come to the city to-night with an officer.  Mr. Ritchie and I came to this house together, and we found—­”

“Yes, yes,” said Antoinette.

“Mr. Ritchie wrote to Mr. Temple that his Excellency was to send for him to-night, but Andre told him of the fever, and he came here in the face of danger to see her before she died.  He galloped past the sentry at the gate, and the Alcalde followed him from there.”

“And came here to arrest him?” cried Antoinette.  Before the Vicomtesse could prevent her she sprang from her chair, ran to the door, and was peering out into the darkness.  “Is the Alcalde waiting?”

“No, no,” said the Vicomtesse, gently bringing her back.  “I wrote to his Excellency and we have his permission for Mr. Temple to remain here.”

Suddenly Antoinette stopped in the middle of the floor, facing the candle, her hands clasped, her eyes wide with fear.  We started, Helene and I, as we looked at her.

“What is it, my dear?” said the Vicomtesse, laying a hand on her arm.

“He will take it,” she said, “he will take the fever.”

A strange thing happened.  Many, many times have I thought of it since, and I did not know its meaning then.  I had looked to see the Vicomtesse comfort her.  But Helene took a step towards me, my eyes met hers, and in them reflected was the terror I had seen in Antoinette’s.  At that instant I, too, forgot the girl, and we turned to see that she had sunk down, weeping, in the chair.  Then we both went to her, I through some instinct I did not fathom.

Helene’s hand, resting on Antoinette’s shoulder, trembled there.  It may well have been my own weakness which made me think her body swayed, which made me reach out as if to catch her.  However marvellous her strength and fortitude, these could not last forever.  And—­Heaven help me—­my own were fast failing.  Once the room had seemed to me all in darkness.  Then I saw the Vicomtesse leaning tenderly over her cousin and whispering in her ear, and Antoinette rising, clinging to her.