She was first to speak.
"Well, Monsieur," not over warmly, "what is it you have to say to me
which necessitates my coming so far? I believed we had not much more
to say." There was no distrust in her eyes, only a cold inquiry. "Are
you going to apologize for applying to me the term 'dishonest'?"
The joy vanished from his face, to be replaced by an anxiety which
lightened the tan on his cheeks. "Madame, it was your note which
brought me here. Read it."
"A clumsy imitation," quickly; "it is not my writing. I suppose, then,
that this is also a forgery?" handing him a note which was worded
identically the same as his own, "Some one has been playing us a sorry
trick." She was angered.
"Let us go back immediately, Madame. We stand in the midst of some
secret danger."
But even as he spoke she uttered a suppressed cry and clutched his arm.
The Chevalier saw four men advancing with drawn swords. They formed a
semicircle around the hut, cutting off all avenues of escape. Quickly
he thrust madame into the hut, whipped out his blade, bared his arm,
and waited just inside the doorway. Everything was plain to him.
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