"And now, madame?"

She looked at me, not comprehending.

"I mean," I hastened to explain, "we do not understand how you
come to be here. And a prisoner." I was really thinking that
her story might throw some light upon ours.

"I do not know, myself," she said. "Yesterday, in the afternoon,
I paid a visit to the Abbess of the Ursulines."

"Pardon me," Croisette interposed quickly, "but are you not of
the new faith? A Huguenot?"

"Oh, yes," she answered eagerly. "But the Abbess is a very dear
friend of mine, and no bigot. Oh, nothing of that kind, I assure
you. When I am in Paris I visit her once a week. Yesterday,
when I left her, she begged me to call here and deliver a
message."

"Then," I said, "you know this house?"

"Very well, indeed," she replied. "It is the sign of the 'Hand
and Glove,' one door out of the Rue Platriere. I have been in
Master Mirepoix's shop more than once before. I came here
yesterday to deliver the message, leaving my maid in the street,
and I was asked to come up stairs, and still up until I reached
this room. Asked to wait a moment, I began to think it strange
that I should be brought to so wretched a place, when I had