“Thou who hast said: ‘I am the Light!’ oh, show me the way!”
At the sound of a knock at the door, the girl rose from her supplications. Entered sad and dusty pilgrim, carrying his few belongings in bag suspended from shoulder stick. Now they dropped sharply to the floor, and the disguised Chevalier gazed long and earnestly upon his love.
Her eyes in turn were riveted on his sad, lean apparition, how terribly changed from the old debonair days! Kind sympathy spoke in her look and mien till the radiance 146 of love, beginning in little ghosts of welcoming smiles at the corners of her mouth, broke into clear effulgence.
The Chevalier tottered forward. He collapsed into the nearest chair.
She put her arms around him and hovered there, comforting him with affectionate little hand pats and soft kisses.
Jacques-Forget-Not, the avenger of the de Vaudreys, had not been far behind during the pilgrim’s tramp across the city. He had in fact sneaked back of him, seen the wanderer enter Henriette’s door. Standing at the head of the stair, he could almost overhear stray phrases of their talk, knew that they were quite within his power.
The shaggy-haired one fairly gloated in his triumph. “Number One!” he hissed, raising a forefinger in token that de Vaudrey––the first of his Trinity of Hate––was in the net. “Two and Three shall come next!” he whispered savagely, knuckling down two other fingers to mark his vengeance on the Count and Countess.
The shaggy-haired Forget-Not hurried down the stairs, his gaunt features baleful with unholy glee. Pointing significantly overhead, he ordered a detail of his guards:
“Arrest de Vaudrey and all in that room!” The men at once proceeded to carry out the order.