than a passing word of greeting, there was news to be imparted by one
lately in communication with Austria or Prussia, or perchance with
England; there was the latest news from Paris to be had from one who had
just escaped from his enemies; there was news, too, of friends who had
not been so fortunate, or who had willingly stayed to face the storm;
there were rumors which had been gathered from all sources to be
whispered. This château of Beauvais was a meeting place, a center for
much scheming; and for a while the hours must be made to pass as
pleasantly as possible.

These men and women were different from those he had come in contact
with, of a different world altogether; yet his youth responded to the
music and verve of it all. Because it was different, new and unfamiliar
to him, that was no proof that what he had known was right, and this was
wrong. His blood was pulsating, the atmosphere was exhilarating.
Pleasure flung him her gauge, why should he not pick it up? A woman was
beside him, dark eyes flashing through her mask, red lips wreathed into
a smile. The next moment reserve had broken down and he was dancing with
her, acquitting himself with sufficient grace to pass muster, and
almost as ready with his compliment as she was to receive it.

"We shall dance again, monsieur," she said presently, when another
partner carried her away.

"Until then I shall count the moments," Barrington answered, and it was
perhaps this suggestion of the future which brought to his mind the real
reason for his presence there.

A large woman, with raven hair, and of such a figure that it shook when
she walked; among the dancers there were many who might pass for large