"Upon the roadside as I--" Barrington began, and then stopped.
"Mademoiselle, forgive me, but such deceit makes a man suspicious. I was
told to seek Mademoiselle St. Clair in a fat, ugly, simpering woman, and
I find her in--in you. How can I be certain that you are Mademoiselle
St. Clair?"

"I see your difficulty. Your doubt does not anger me. Let me think. Will
it help you if I speak the name Lucien?"

"It seems convincing. Heaven grant, mademoiselle, that you are as
honorable as you are beautiful. I must needs believe so and trust you.
To you I can prove that I am an honest messenger," and Barrington tore
from the lining of his coat a tiny packet of tissue paper. "I have to
give you this little golden star, your gift to Lucien."

She took the packet with quick, trembling fingers, turned to the table,
and by the light of the lantern unfolded the paper. With a little clink
the star fell upon the table.

"This? This?" she said, starting back and pointing at it.

Barrington made a step forward at her sudden question, and then stood
still, staring at the token.

It was no star of gold which lay in the circle of the lantern light, but
a common thing of iron, roughly made, rusted and worthless.