"Madame," he said, "we had word of this intrusion. We were even now upon the track of this ruffian. There was another, also, who climbed the wall—ah! I see him! The Englishman there!"
"He is our friend," Madame de Melbain said. "You must not interfere with him."
"As Madame wills! Come, you rascal," he added, gripping his prisoner by the shoulder. "We will show you what it means to climb over walls and trespass on the estate of Madame la Baronne. Come then!"
The intruder accepted the situation with the most philosophic calm. Only one remark he ventured to make as he was led off.
"It is not hospitable, this! I only wished to see the chateâu by moonlight!"
Wrayson's fellow guest at the Lion d'Or turned to follow them.
"The fellow might try to escape," he muttered; but again Madame de Melbain called to him.
"You must not go away," she said, "yet!"
Then she moved forward with smooth, deliberate footsteps, yet with something almost supernatural in her white face and set, dilated eyes. It was as though she were looking once more through the windows of the world, as though she could see the figures of dead men playing once more their part in the game of life. And she looked always at the Englishman.
"Listen," she said, "there is something about you, sir, which I do not understand. Who are you, and where do you come from?"