Light from the green lanthorn and from two candles on the shelf flickered on the tapestry in the hidden cellar, bringing out unexpected gleams of rose and blue in its faded grey weaving. At one end of the long, strange room was a heap of rugs and velvet draperies and some blankets and there was a big tiger skin on the rough stone floor.

A table covered with a crimson brocaded cloth stood near the chest. Dian had found some boards in the upper cellar and had thrown them down the secret slide. With these he had made the table and he was now making a sort of bed. He was stooping over his work, his red locks falling about his shoulders, his chisel and wooden nails beside him on the floor. Lisle sat on the chest watching him, his hands clasped about his knees. It was five days since Dian had rescued him from the baker’s shop. At first he had not been able to take an interest in anything except the facts that the shepherd had told him that first day, when they were safe in the hidden cellar, that his mother was a prisoner in the house of his Great-aunt Hortense, that the old lady herself had died, and that Rosanne was safe with Humphrey Trail, who had rescued her the night that Lisle had been abducted.

Lisle had slept in a sort of stupor all the next day, rousing only to take the soup or milk which Dian fed him. He had muttered about a cake with spun sugar, and a mouse. Toward evening he had become himself again, eager to hear all that Dian had to tell him, and plying the shepherd with questions. Les Vignes—was all going well there? Marie Josephine, was she happy? Had they endured the winter without discomfort? Dian had answered all as best he could. He had told of Neville’s arrival in disguise and of the expected arrival of a messenger from the comtesse who never came. He told of the long winter evenings around Mother Barbette’s fire, and of how it had come to him, as he crossed the meadow one night, that he should go to Paris. He did not dwell too much on the danger they all were in, but Lisle seemed to grasp it.

“You see, I’ve known the danger all winter, Dian. I’ve known it was there since the Tuileries were taken. I’ve known it all along since then. We must not stay here in this hidden room. We must be up and out!” he had said impulsively.

That was the night after the rescue, and now the fifth day had come. Dian left him at intervals, bringing back food for them both. He shook his head when Lisle spoke of wanting to accompany him.

“You shouldn’t run all the danger yourself, Dian. You risked your life for me. Don’t you see I’m strong now and ready to help? It’s my place to help you, to save mother and get her and Rosanne out of Paris. That was what was so awful about being in the baker’s shop, not doing anything, not being able to help,” he said, but Dian only shook his head as he rose from his work.

“It’s lonely for you here and it’s dark and gloomy, too, but you are safe here and that is what counts the most. Never fear but your time will come to help. You’re helping now just by staying here. Your mother will be saved and she and Mademoiselle de SoignÉ will get safe out of Paris,” Dian answered.

“How do you know? How can you tell, Dian?” Lisle jumped up and came and stood in front of the shepherd, who looked up from his work.

“I can not tell you how I know, Little Master. I knew that I or the good Humphrey would find you,” and then Dian told again about discovering the note in the cake at the spinner’s supper. Lisle loved to hear the story.

“It was wonderful,” he said slowly as Dian finished speaking and went on with his work. Then Lisle hesitated. It was not easy for him to show emotion or sentiment of any kind. He put his hand on Dian’s shoulder as he bent over the boards with his saw. “There is no one like you, Dian,” he said.

The shepherd had waited for questions about the hidden cellar. It had amazed him that Lisle had not seemed to be surprised about it, but he was soon to know why. Lisle walked up and down for a time after he spoke to Dian. He rubbed his hand along the rough stone wall, lifted a corner of the tapestry curtain, and said:

“It is very old, isn’t it, Dian?”

“Very old, Little Master,” Dian replied.

“Did my grandfather know about it?” was Lisle’s next question.

“He knew and he told me,” came the shepherd’s answer.

“Why did he not tell me, too?” demanded Lisle, and as he spoke he came back to the chest and sat down, looking eagerly across at Dian, his light brows drawn together in the frown that with him generally meant trouble.

Dian stood up, straightening his great height. Then he walked slowly up and down the room, his hands locked in front of him, thinking deeply. When at last he answered Lisle he spoke slowly. “It is hard to tell you why, and I do not really know myself, except that it was always the Little Mademoiselle whom your grandfather thought the most about, and it was to her that he told the secret of the cellar. It is no longer a secret, and the time has come when it may shelter you all.”

Lisle was standing in front of him, his eyes flashing blue fire.

“He told Marie Josephine, that baby, told her instead of me who am head of my house, now that he has gone. What can you mean, Dian, when you say that grandfather told Marie Josephine?”

Dian was reaching for his cloak which hung on a nail at one side of the secret stairs as he answered quietly:

“The Comte Saint FrÈre thought that it was for the best. He said that the Little Mademoiselle was the one of you who thought the most, the one who cared for everyone and everything.” Dian turned and faced Lisle as he went on, speaking tenderly. “It was not indeed that you were not his dear beloved grandson. He had many hopes and dreams for you, only the Little Mademoiselle dreamed, too. She was different.”

As he spoke, Dian climbed the first step of the stairs. “I’ll be gone but a short time and we’ll have a good talk about it all when I come back,” he said, and then he climbed up the stairs, opened the secret panel, and, after sliding it back in place, went out through the cellar into the soft spring dusk. He was sad at heart, for he knew that Lisle was wounded in his pride, and that he was angry. It would not make things easier to have him so. He knew that it would be as well to leave him alone for a time, and he felt that it was the hour for him to pay a visit to Vivi and Rosanne. More and more the conviction grew upon him that Rosanne’s situation was now becoming perilous, and that he must soon, at all costs, see that she was safely hidden in the secret cellar, until such time as he could effect an escape for the comtesse.

He had seen Humphrey and had told him of Lisle’s escape and of his being safe in the hidden cellar. He knew that he had done well in telling Humphrey of the cellar, and one of the things he had decided to do next was to show it to him and to tell him of the secret panel and how to open it. Humphrey did not seem to realize his own danger, but Dian felt that it was there. Humphrey was an alien enemy of the Republic. His safety so far had lain largely in the fact of his being so typically a farmer.

Surveillance was growing daily more strict. At any time both Humphrey and Rosanne might be discovered. Dian was thinking of all this as he walked through the crowded, unruly city, amid the sound of hammers on anvils and the rumble of tumbrils carrying poor victims to the guillotine.

As he walked, his cloak thrown across his shoulders, his long even strides taking him over the ground in good time, he was thinking deeply, but he was in no way discouraged. He was right when he said to Lisle that he had deep faith in the safety of them all, but it was something that he could not put into words, something deep within him which spoke to him of good, and which gave him confidence. He turned to it as simply as a child, and it had never failed him. He had thought a great deal about Vivi while he had been in the hidden cellar the last few days. He knew that there was very much that he could do for her, poor little ignorant child, so kind of thought and action, so ready to do as they asked her, keeping their secret for them. There was a life of sunshine for Vivi, away from the dirty alley and the rough madness of Paris, of that Dian was sure, and for that he would work.

He walked to the west gate and stood in the dusk, exchanging greetings with the soldiers on guard and with various vendors of hot soup, eau sucrÉ, and coffee. Then he went on toward the Saint Antoine district, finding himself at last in the dingy alley where lived three people in whom he was deeply interested and whom he loved.

Rosanne overwhelmed him with questions. Her joy in the thought of Lisle’s safety made her almost like the happy girl who used to ride up and down the long driveway at Les Vignes.

“If only you could stay and tell us all about the hidden cellar!” she said as Dian came in bringing something almost like sunshine with him.

Humphrey Trail was as interested as Rosanne. His honest face glowed with pleasure when Dian said:

“The Little Master talked and talked of you, Humphrey. As soon as he knew about his mother and Mademoiselle he began to talk of you. 'Humphrey Trail is my friend. He saved Rosanne and he gave me good counsel which I was too proud to take. Dian, I want to show that I am his friend, too,’ he said.”

Dian took a piece of paper from his pocket and read what was written on it.

It was a copy of the note to Grigge which Raoul had taken through the gates. It read:

“When this reaches you, aid Champar to do all that may be needful for the family at Les Vignes. Go with Champar in the coach to Calais, and give this note which is inclosed to one Anastasius Grubb, who is skipper of a fishing smack called the Sandlass. He is thick set, and has a black beard, and has a scar over his left eye. Deliver the note into his hands and into no other’s. I trust you. I know that you will be guided. Consult Champar the coach driver in case of danger. Dian.”

What would those who trusted him say if they knew that he had sent this important note to the miserable boy who lived in a hovel at the gates of Les Vignes? Dian, in his wisdom, knew that he had done well. He had spent many a night in Pigeon Valley, when his eyes were blurred with weariness, teaching Grigge to read and write. He had kept up the boy’s courage when he had been in despair, and had given him a hold on life. He had strengthened his love for young and helpless animals. He trusted him now to do this one great service.

“The little Vivi is late. It is best that I go and find her,” Dian said, and as he spoke, he tore up the copy of the letter, and threw it into the fire. Then he went out, leaving Humphrey and Rosanne to their simple supper of bread and greens. Dian wanted a word alone with Vivi.

He went to the West Barricade and stood watching the carts go through. He knew several of the soldiers who stood about and he nodded to Georges Fardou, who was on guard at the gate, and with whom he often had a word. He was about to turn away when two figures came flying through the gates, a girl and a boy! They stood still for a second, as though dazed. The next instant they threw themselves upon Dian.

Fardou gave a gruff laugh, exclaiming, “Look here, young Vivi. There will be no more of this going in and out of the gates. You and your young tramp of a friend can keep inside. You’d never have gotten through to-day if I’d been on guard.”

Dian never knew how he passed the next few minutes. His Little Mademoiselle, the wildest, dirtiest little vagabond imaginable, was hugging him, whispering through soft sobs, “Dian, Dian, Dian.” Jean Barbette, a dusty, smutty-nosed boy, if ever there was one, held tight to his hand, fairly jumping for joy. Dian felt his heart give a great leap when he heard the guard call out “Vivi.” He himself had thought at first that Marie Josephine was Vivi. There was safety in this, beyond words to measure!

He took them each by the hand, saying over his shoulder to Fardou, “I’ll see that they stay where they belong!”

He walked with them quickly down a side street toward the alley.

Lisle had sat still on the chest for some time after Dian left him. He looked at the quiet dusk of the old place, at the flicker of light from the green lanthorn, at the weird figures on the tapestry. He was angry, for his pride had been hurt, his sorest point. Grandfather had told Marie Josephine about the cellar instead of him, had told a mere child who could know little or nothing of what it meant.

He would show them that he was no child to be kept in hiding! Dian had said that it was necessary that he stay in the cellar for the present, and had taken it for granted that he would do so, but he had not given Dian his word that he would stay. As he climbed up the secret stairs he was glad that this was so. He had watched Dian open the panel and when he reached the top of the stairs he did as the shepherd had done, and to his joy the panel slipped out easily. What would Marie Josephine say if she could see him now!

He slipped the panel back in place, and stood for a moment in the dim cellar, the musty scent of apples and onions all about him. He thought of the night when he had come down for wood, leaving Rosanne singing in the salon, and of all that he had been through since then. He turned back toward the secret panel, hesitated, then ran quickly up the dark stairway to the floor above.

He was in his own house! He was master of that house! It had belonged to his forefathers and now it was his own, but as he went into the great, silent hall, he knew that he was not quite as he had been that night of the blizzard when he had toasted nuts with Rosanne. He had known grave danger and he had met with kindness. He had a feeling of gratitude for the bakery woman. He was sorry that all the pride and delight she had in her cakes had ended in the shattering of her shop. He felt an intense relief and thankfulness that Rosanne was not in danger and he wanted to get her safely out of Paris. Above all, he wanted to set his mother free. That was one of his plans, to go to Great-aunt Hortense’s house in some disguise. He was full of plans and longing for action, but out of all that he had learned these last weeks, he had not lost his pride. He had not been content to wait for Dian’s own good time. He had chosen a time himself.

As he stood there in the dark hall, he thought he saw something move, and then decided that it was only the swaying of the velvet curtain leading into the salon. He put one foot on the stairs leading to the floor above and then paused, listening. He heard footsteps; they came from the direction of the cellars. He was not mistaken. It must be Dian who had come back through the cellar window.

The hot blood mounted to Lisle’s face. Dian had found that he was gone and was coming to look for him. He turned and looked back, and at that moment saw the tall figure of the shepherd in the half light. He was just about to speak to him when some one crouching by the velvet curtain jumped forward, and pointed a gun at Dian’s head.

Lisle ran out of the shadow and threw himself in front of the shepherd, both arms outstretched. The gun fell to the floor with a crash and its owner began to sob. It was Henri!