"You are right," said he. "The candle is dangerous. I will get my bicycle-lamp and we will investigate this mystery."
"It is no longer a mystery," she replied,—"not to me. It is the hand of the Duke."
"It is very singular," he muttered. "Very curious."
"It is a fairy romance," said she, as they passed back through the narrow opening to Jean's appartement.
"There is no fairy story about that dynamite,—that, at least, is both practical and modern."
"Oh! I mean this secret passage and all that——"
"Yes; but don't you know, mon enfant, that I first thought it led to—to your——"
"For shame! Monsieur Jean!"
"I don't know," said he, shaking his head smilingly. "Monsieur de Beauchamp was a very handsome man."
"Yes, besides being an ardent servant of the Duc d'Orléans and an artist collector of pictures and bric-à-brac——"