Michel Prevost met D'Estreville by appointment at a cafÉ. "There is no one I can talk to about certain matters so readily as yourself," the Baron had said, and Michel replied, laughing, "Oh, if you are going to sigh and mourn over this little DuprÉ I think I will leave you to lament alone!"

Nevertheless D'Estreville begged him to come, and he went.

The attitude of old DuprÉ had put Louise into a doubly awkward position. "What shall I do, Marie—help me!" Louise had entreated her sister. "Henri must be told that I am alive, that is certain; yet when he learns that my father deceived him he will be so angry with my father that I do not know what may happen."

"Bah!" said Marie, "he will be so happy to learn that you are alive, that he will forget everything else. Moreover, he is not so foolish that he would take my father seriously."

"But father takes himself so seriously; he is determined to quarrel. Moreover, when Henri learns that I am alive he must also learn that I have masqueraded as a man, among men, and that is what I dare not tell him. It is an impasse."

"As you have put it, it is an impasse. But why dare you not tell him?"

"I am ashamed. There was a tale told in Moscow of a young Russian woman who had taken part in every battle in the campaign, her name was Nadejda Doorova. The soldiers in my regiment said horrible things about her. It is not likely that Henri would think well of my performance. It is not every one who is like my father and yourself, who have his blood in your veins."

"Bah! he will, as I say, be so thankful to find you alive that he will forget all this. Shall I go to him, sister, and tell him your story?"

"Heaven forbid, do nothing; no one shall tell him my tale but I myself."

"Tell him of this Russian girl and see what he says to the story," Marie suggested.

"But what if he disapproved of it and said something so cruel about her that I dare not tell him afterwards of my own escapade? I wish now I had not done it, Marie, indeed I do, except that your Karl was left to you instead of being carried off to the war."

"If he loves you he will forgive ten times more," said Marie. "Go to him boldly, sister, go as Michel Prevost; say, 'Here, mourn no more for me, my friend, I am Louise and my old father is not to blame for the deception, for obviously no person can be two persons at the same time, and while I was Michel there could be no Louise. Now Michel has finished and Louise steps once more into being.'"

Louise laughed. "It sounds very foolish," she said, "but something of the kind must be done."

But when Michel Prevost found Henri d'Estreville at the rendezvous appointed she had evolved no clear plan for his enlightenment.

Henri began to speak of his trouble almost immediately. The more he thought about the matter, he said, the more amazed he was that a little love affair should have so transformed him that he could think of nothing else. "It is unlike me, therefore the experience is obviously a peculiar one: ergo, I conclude that I was for once seriously in love; which being so, what an atrocious trick fortune has played me. It is the last time, my friend, that I shall look at a woman!"

Michel contrived to direct the subject of conversation to the career of Nadejda Doorova, the Russian girl who had fought throughout the war as a Cossack soldier. Henri had not heard of her and displayed but little interest in her adventures.

"Bah!" he said, "she is an eccentric. It is the kind of thing old Pierre DuprÉ would have liked his daughters to do; old Pierre is mad. A woman must be wanting in modesty to unsex herself thus."

"Oh!" exclaimed Michel involuntarily; his heart sank. "Let us be just to her," he murmured; "who knows, she may have had some good reason of which we know nothing, this Nadejda; her lover, maybe, went to the war and she could not bear to be parted."

"That would perhaps excuse her to a certain extent," said Henri wearily. He was not in the least interested in the conversation.

In despair, Louise tried another tack. She had determined to come to an understanding this day, nothing could be done without risk.

"D'Estreville—will you promise not to be angry if I make a communication to you—it is about Louise DuprÉ?"

Henri was all attention in a moment.

"About Louise?" he repeated. "What can you have to say about her—and why should I be angry? I wish you to talk of her."

"It may be different this time. I shall hope that you will not be angry. You may have observed, my friend, that when you told me your story a few days since I was greatly astounded to hear of her death, Louise DuprÉ's death."

"Naturally, I hope you were shocked, if only for the sake of your friend, who loved her."

"Monsieur, prepare yourself for a surprise greater than my own. You have been deceived."

"Deceived?" Henri started from his chair. "How deceived, by whom?"

"Be calm, dear friend, and sit down. It is about Louise. I have come this day to tell you the truth; Louise did not die as you were told." Henri sat down suddenly; his face paled, then flushed.

"Stop—she did not die—is she then still alive? for God's sake speak plainly, Michel."

"She is not dead."

"Then to what end was I deceived? For whose sake was I to be kept in ignorance? Is it for yours, Michel? I remember that you said there was no woman worth breaking one's heart over, if she should prove false or die. What have you done, Michel—what have you done?"

"You rave, D'Estreville," said Louise, growing a little frightened.

"No, I am sane; I know what I say; did you not tell me you believed that I was dead? Believing this you delivered my message to Louise and that was the beginning. Since then the false wench has learned to prefer Michel living to Henri dead—is it not so? Come, confess, Michel."

"You are very swift to find fault with the woman you profess to love, Monsieur le Baron," said Louise, somewhat alarmed at the turn the conversation had taken, yet indignant withal.

"Ah, you prevaricate! I have guessed rightly. So this is your friendship for me, Monsieur Michel Prevost—a worthy friend in truth and indeed!"

"Monsieur le Baron jumps to conclusions," said Louise. "Moreover, seeing that the message was to be delivered to the lady in case of your death, and seeing that you were believed to be dead, should I be to blame even though it were so as you have said?"

"Ha! you assured yourself very quickly of my decease; and she, too, by all the Saints she has wasted no time!"

"Monsieur le Baron is so angry that he will not listen to reason. It is easy for him to see this lady."

"Not I!" cried Henri; "I will see her no more."

"But what if you suspect her unjustly?"

"Then why was I deceived and told that she was dead? She was 'dead to me,' that is the explanation. She is not dead to others—to you, for instance, her new lover—oh Lord, Michel, a pretty messenger thou hast been!"

"A worse than the Baron supposes," Michel laughed nervously, "for his message was never delivered."

"What! though you believed me dead? Then indeed, my friend, you have been little better than a traitor."

"It seems you are determined to quarrel with me, say what I will; if I delivered the message it was in order to found a courtship of my own upon it; if I did not I am a traitor. Nevertheless I will not quarrel, my friend. It was not I that deceived you, remember, but I that undeceived you. Was it not Monsieur DuprÉ who declared that his daughter was dead? Then why am I to be quarrelled with?"

"Because, my friend, I believe you to have been a party to the deception, for a certain end of your own which I have indicated."

"Then your wrath is expended upon wind, for I swear to you that though, I confess, this lady is more to me than any woman in the world——"

"Aha! listen to him!" Henri raved.

"And though I am well aware that she is not wholly indifferent to my virtues——"

"By Heaven, Michel, you are a bold man!" cried Henri, fingering his sword hilt; "finish your sentence; I will judge whether our rapiers shall settle this matter."

"Yet I would not marry the girl for all the wealth of India, nor she me. Moreover, I promise that Louise shall confirm my words. Henri, my friend, it is as her messenger I come this day. 'Bid him come to me'—that is her message."

"If it be so, Michel," began the Baron, his face instantly relaxing, "you shall bid me do penance for my suspicions; but if——"

"Nay, I weary of arguing, my friend; come to her quickly."