she was not so tall as from below I had imagined. She was, in fact,
of a short stature rather, but of proportions so exquisite that she
conveyed an impression of some height. In her hand she held a taper
by whose light she had been surveying herself in her mirror at the
moment of my advent. Her unbound hair of brown fell like a mantle
about her shoulders, and this fact it was drew me to notice that she
was in her night-rail, and that this room to which I had penetrated
was her chamber.

"Who are you?" she asked breathlessly, as though in such a pass my
identity were a thing that signified.

I had almost answered her, as I had answered the troopers at Mirepoix,
that I was Lesperon. Then, bethinking me that there was no need for
such equivocation here, I was on the point of giving her my name.
But noting my hesitation, and misconstruing it, she forestalled me.

"I understand, monsieur," said she more composedly. "And you need
have no fear. You are among friends."

Her eyes had travelled over my sodden clothes, the haggard pallor of
my face, and the blood that stained my doublet from the shoulder
downward. From all this she had drawn her conclusions that I was a
hunted rebel. She drew me into the room, and, closing the window,
she dragged the heavy curtain across it, thereby giving me a proof
of confidence that smote me hard - impostor that I was.

"I crave your pardon, mademoiselle, for having startled you by the
rude manner of my coming," said I, and never in my life had I felt
less at ease than then. "But I was exhausted and desperate. I am