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But the mother was far from strong. Her excitement had wearied her, and now, with the relaxation of contentment, fatigue stole over her. She lay back among the soft cushions, her restless hands moving more slowly, her gentle voice stilled. She dozed at last, her face serene and beatific.

Madelon motioned to Van Dam, and he rose. Noiselessly they stole across the hall and into the drawing-room, leaving the placid figure in repose.

She turned upon him, saying, doubtfully: “With every moment you surprise me, Emile. You are not at all what I expected, not at all the cousin of whom I have heard so much! Even in looks you seem–how shall I say it?–strange.”

“Are you pleased or disappointed?”

“Ah! Pleased! I–I feel that I must weep. You are so brave and strong, and yet so gentle, so sweet! Perhaps only a mother recognizes the good that is in one. That scene in yonder was very–touching. I–I can hardly credit my ears and my eyes.”

“It’s plain you have a wrong idea of me. I’m not at all a bad sort.”

“So I begin to believe, in spite of everything. La! It is confusing. I am all in a whirl.” She uttered a hesitating, silvery little laugh that proved her embarrassment.

“We must speak quickly,” he said. “I am also greatly confused. You have opened up a great possibility for me, Madelon. The whole world is suddenly different. I–I think I am in love with you, my little cousin.”

She flung out her hand to check him, crying: “No, no! I could never love you!”

Her voice was uncertain, and he imprisoned her outstretched palm. Then, with his free hand, he removed her mask. She made no resistance, she did not even draw away from him. His heart leaped wildly at the face he saw; for it was more perfect even than he had imagined. The eyes were deep brown, the skin was smooth and olive-hued, the lips were red and pouting with embarrassment. She met his hungry gaze with a flaming blush of defiance; then she smiled pathetically, and without further delay he drew her to him and kissed her once, twice, again and again, until she lay, spent and shaken, in his arms. After a time, she said, wonderingly:

“What miracle is this? I have always hated you; I–hate you now when I think of the evil you have done. I shall continue to hate you.”

“I hardly believe that.”

“It is very sad that this has come to pass; it means nothing but unhappiness.”

“How so?”

“Can you ask? You–a refugee, with a price upon your head!” She shuddered and buried her face against his shoulder. “Why have you made me love you?”

“It was fate, my little witch. If you will trust me, all will come out right in the end. But there is a great deal here that I don’t understand. For instance, how came you two to be in want?”

“Surely you know as well as I.”

“I do not.”

“But I wrote–“

“Letters go astray. Tell me.”

“There is little to tell. We hardly know ourselves, except that we trusted in our good cousin Alfred, as you trusted. He is a snake!” She clutched Roland fiercely by the folds of his domino. “Oh! It is too bad that I did not know you sooner, Emile! I would have saved you from those evil men; for I am very wise. But now you must suffer the punishment for your crime; and I must suffer also. It is hardly just, is it?”

“Suppose I told you–er–I am innocent?”

“Please!” One rosy palm closed his lips. “You must never lie to me, even to promote my happiness. No! When a woman loves, she loves blindly, without reason, regardless of her lover’s unworthiness. You have brought misery to me as you brought it to–her. Perhaps you, too, will suffer, as a punishment.”

“And why have you devoted yourself to my mother?” he inquired.

“I love her. I am alone in the world. We are poor together. Cousin Alfred has my money, too, you understand.”