Barrington had not sought such an honor. Until the moment he had
fastened her mask, touching her hair and touched by her personality, he
would rather have been without the honor; now he was disappointed,
angry. She had found another escort and despised him. She was as other
women, unreliable, changeable, inconstant.

"You bring some proof that mademoiselle has entrusted you with this
message."

"This," was the answer, and the man held up the little iron star.

"I am not greatly grieved to be relieved of such a responsibility,
gentlemen," said Barrington, with a short laugh. "Perhaps you will tell
mademoiselle so."

"Pardon, but monsieur hardly understands. For some purpose monsieur came
to Beauvais with an attempt to deceive mademoiselle with this little
iron trinket. It is not possible to let such a thing pass, and it is
most undesirable that monsieur should be allowed to have the opportunity
of again practicing such deceit. Mademoiselle listened to him, feigned
to be satisfied with his explanation, in fact, met deceit with deceit.
My opinion was that half a dozen lackeys should be sent to chastise
monsieur, but mademoiselle decided otherwise. You were too good to die
by a lackey's hand, she declared, therefore, monsieur, we are here."

"Four gentlemen for six lackeys!" laughed Barrington. "It is a strange
computation of values."

"The methods are different," was the answer. "I think we do you too much
honor, but mademoiselle has willed it. We have already arranged our