"And does your ladyship imagine that I fear such a result?"

"So far as courage is concerned, I should not give any one precedence to Count Vavel. A regular duel, however, requires more than courage.

Colonel Barthelmy is a soldier by profession; you are a philosopher who lives amid his studies, and whose right hand is unable to hold a pen, let alone a sword or a pistol!"

Count Vavel was touched on the spot where men are most susceptible.

"Who can tell whether I have always been a studious hermit?" he demanded proudly. "Besides, might it not be that my hand is unable only when I don't want to use it?"

"That may be," retorted the lady. "But Barthelmy, who is perfectly insane on the subject of his wife's infamy, would have the advantage of you. He is suspicious of every stranger; and of all the gossip which environs you, the legend of that elopement is the mildest."

"Indeed? This is very flattering! Probably I am also said to be a counterfeiter?"

"I am not jesting, Herr Count. While Colonel Barthelmy was my guest I was able to prevent him from taking any aggressive steps toward you; this is why you did not hear from him again after his last call on you--"

"I certainly am greatly indebted to you," interrupted Count Vavel, with visible irony.

"You owe me no thanks, Herr Count. When a woman tries to prevent a quarrel between two men, she does so, believe me, out of pure self-love.

The emotions which electrify your nerves torment ours. I could not have continued to live here had a tragic occurrence made the place memorable.

That is why I prevented an encounter between you and the colonel; so you need not thank me. However, the evening before the regiment took its departure the colonel said to me: 'I have kept my word to you, baroness; but to-morrow I cease to be your guest. I shall take steps then to learn if the mysterious lady at the Nameless Castle be Ange Barthelmy or some one else.'"

At these words a deep flush crimsoned Count Vavel's face. "I should like to know how he proposes to settle that question?" he said, in a voice that trembled with suppressed rage.

"I will tell you. Just listen to the ridiculous plan which the man betrayed in his fury. He is quartered in the neighboring village to the edge of which you and a certain person drive every day. He is going to rise, with several friends, along the road; and when he meets your carriage, he is going to stop it, introduce himself, and demand if the lady by your side be Mme. Ange Barthelmy."

Count Vavel clenched his hands and closed his lips tightly. After a brief struggle he regained command of himself, and said quietly:

"I shall, of course, reply: 'On my word as a man of honor, this lady is not Ange Barthelmy.'"

"But if that does not satisfy him? Suppose he should insist on seeing the lady? Suppose he even attempts to lift the lady's veil?"

"Then he dies!" The count gave utterance to these words in a tone that sounded more like the growl of a lion that has the neck of his prey between his teeth.

"He is capable, in his present mood, of doing anything rash," murmured the baroness, with an expression of terror in her eyes.

"And I am capable of an equally rash act," responded the count.

"I believe it; I have heard of such courage before. But _you_ must not forget that you do not belong to yourself; there is some one else you must think of before you risk your life."

Count Vavel started violently; he opened his lips as if to speak, but the baroness quickly raised her hand and interposed.

"I am not trying to pry into your secret, Herr Count; I am no spy--you must have seen that ere this. All I know is that there is under your protection a woman to whom you are everything, and who will have no one should she lose you."

"But what can I do?" in desperation exclaimed Count Vavel. "I cannot hide in my castle until Colonel Barthelmy leaves the neighborhood. Would you have me confess to all the world that I am a coward?"

"Let me advise you, Herr Count," with sudden resolution responded the baroness. "Turn this matter, which you look upon as a tragedy, into a capital jest. Take _me_ to drive with you to-day instead of your--friend."

Count Vavel suddenly burst into a loud laugh--from extreme anger to unrestrained merriment.

But the baroness did not laugh with him.

"I am in earnest, Count Vavel. Now you will understand why I came here this morning." She drew her veil over her face, and asked: "Am I enough like her to take her place in the carriage?"

Count Vavel was astounded. The likeness to Marie was perfect. The gown, the hat, and veil were exactly like those Marie was wont to wear when she drove out with him. The daring suggestion, however, amazed him more than anything else.

"What! You, baroness? You would really venture to drive with me? Have you thought of the risk--the danger to yourself?"

"I have given it as much thought as did you when you risked coming to the manor with nothing but a walking-stick to battle with four thieves.

One ought not stop to think of the risk when a danger is to be averted.

This adventure may end as harmlessly as the other."

"And suppose the colonel should by any chance see your face? No, no, baroness; there is no comparison between my venture and this plan you propose. If I had had an encounter with those thieves I might have received a wound that would soon have healed; but your pure reputation as a woman might receive a wound that would never heal."

A bitter smile wreathed the lady's lips as she replied: "Could any wound that I might receive increase the burden on my heart?" She laughed harshly, then asked suddenly: "Perhaps you are afraid the colonel will think I am the mysterious lady of the Nameless Castle?"

Count Vavel's face reddened to the roots of his hair.

Again the lady laughed, then said apologetically: "Pardon me, but the idea amused me. But, to return to Colonel Barthelmy, he is going very shortly to Italy with his regiment; therefore, I need not care what fables he thinks of me--or repeats. The few persons whose opinion I care for will not believe him; as for the others--pah! Come, your hand on it!

Let us perpetrate this joke. If _I_ am willing to run the risk, you surely need not hesitate."

And yet he hesitated.

"Don't speak of this plan of yours as a mischievous trick, baroness," he said earnestly. "It is a great, a n.o.ble sacrifice--so great, indeed, that living woman could not perform a greater--to be willing to blush with shame while innocent. She who blushes for her love does not suffer; but to flush with shame out of friendship must be a torture like that endured by martyrs."

"Very well, then; let it be a sacrifice--as you will! I am a willing victim! I owe you a debt of grat.i.tude; I want to pay it. Now go and order the carriage; I will wait here for you."

Every drop of blood in his body rebelled against his accepting this offer. A woman rescue a strong man from a threatened danger! And at what a risk!

"Well," a trifle impatiently exclaimed the baroness, as he still lingered, "are n't you going to fetch your cloak? I am ready for the drive."

Without another word the count turned and strode toward the castle.

Marie was satisfied with the excuse he made for not taking her with him as usual: he said he had urgent business in the neighboring village, and would have to drive there alone.

Then he ordered Henry to harness the horses to the carriage, and drive down to the gate, where he would await him.

He found the baroness waiting for him where he had left her.

"Well," she began, when he came near enough to hear her, "have you decided to take me with you?"

"No."

"Then you are going to take the lady?"

"No."

"Not? Then who is going with you?"

"These two pistols," replied the count, flinging back his cloak and revealing the weapons thrust into his pocket. "With these two companions I am going to meet the gentleman who is so determined to see the face of the veiled lady. I shall show him a lady whose face is not a subject of gossip."