The people were simulating death!  They were posing as the victims of the plague that infested the land!  Chase shuddered at this exhibition of diabolical cunning.  Some of them were writhing as if in the death agony.  It was at once apparent that the effect of this manifestation would serve to drive away all visitors, appalled and terrified.  As he was explaining the ruse to his mystified companion, the nose of the vessel came out from behind the tree-covered point.

An instant later, they were sending wild cries of joy through the chateau, and people were rushing toward them from all quarters.

The trim white thing that glided across the harbour, graceful as a bird, was the Marquess’s yacht!

It is needless to describe the joyous gale that swept the chateau into a maelstrom of emotions.  Every one was shouting and talking and laughing at once; every one was calling out excitedly that no means should be spared in the effort to let the yacht know and appreciate the real situation.

“Can the yacht take all of us away?” was the anxious cry that went round and round.

They saw the tug put out to meet the small boat; they witnessed the same old manoeuvres; they sustained a chill of surprise and despair when the bright, white and blue boat from the yacht came to a stop at the command from the tug.

There was an hour of parleying.  The beleaguered ones signalled with despairing energy; the flag, limp in the damp air above the chateau, shot up and down in pitiful eagerness.

But the small boat edged away from close proximity to the tug and the near-by dock.  They spoke each other at long and ever-widening range.  At last, the yacht’s boat turned and fled toward the trim white hull.

Almost before the startled, dazed people on the balcony could grasp the full and horrible truth, the yacht had lifted anchor and was slowly headed out to sea.

It was unbelievable!

With stupefied, incredulous eyes, they saw the vessel get quickly under way.  She steamed from the pest-ridden harbour with scarcely so much as a glance behind.  Then they shouted and screamed after her, almost maddened by this final, convincing proof of the consummate deviltry against which they were destined to struggle.

Chase looked grimly about him, into the questioning, stricken faces of his companions.  He drew his hand across his moist forehead.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said seriously and without the faintest intent to jest, “we are supposed to be dead!”

There was a single shriek from the bride of Thomas Saunders; no sound left the dry lips of the other watchers, who stood as if petrified and kept their eyes glued upon the disappearing yacht.

“They have left me here to die!” came from the stiffened lips of the Princess Genevra.  “They have deserted me.  God in heaven!”

“Look!” cried Chase, pointing to the dock.  Half a dozen glasses were turned in that direction.