“Indeed?  This is very flattering!  Probably I am also said to be a counterfeiter?”

“I am not jesting, Herr Count.  While Colonel Barthelmy was my guest I was able to prevent him from taking any aggressive steps toward you; this is why you did not hear from him again after his last call on you—­”

“I certainly am greatly indebted to you,” interrupted Count Vavel, with visible irony.

“You owe me no thanks, Herr Count.  When a woman tries to prevent a quarrel between two men, she does so, believe me, out of pure self-love.  The emotions which electrify your nerves torment ours.  I could not have continued to live here had a tragic occurrence made the place memorable.  That is why I prevented an encounter between you and the colonel; so you need not thank me.  However, the evening before the regiment took its departure the colonel said to me:  ’I have kept my word to you, baroness; but to-morrow I cease to be your guest.  I shall take steps then to learn if the mysterious lady at the Nameless Castle be Ange Barthelmy or some one else.’”

At these words a deep flush crimsoned Count Vavel’s face.  “I should like to know how he proposes to settle that question?” he said, in a voice that trembled with suppressed rage.

“I will tell you.  Just listen to the ridiculous plan which the man betrayed in his fury.  He is quartered in the neighboring village to the edge of which you and a certain person drive every day.  He is going to rise, with several friends, along the road; and when he meets your carriage, he is going to stop it, introduce himself, and demand if the lady by your side be Mme. Ange Barthelmy.”

Count Vavel clenched his hands and closed his lips tightly.  After a brief struggle he regained command of himself, and said quietly: 

“I shall, of course, reply:  ’On my word as a man of honor, this lady is not Ange Barthelmy.’”

“But if that does not satisfy him?  Suppose he should insist on seeing the lady?  Suppose he even attempts to lift the lady’s veil?”

“Then he dies!” The count gave utterance to these words in a tone that sounded more like the growl of a lion that has the neck of his prey between his teeth.

“He is capable, in his present mood, of doing anything rash,” murmured the baroness, with an expression of terror in her eyes.

“And I am capable of an equally rash act,” responded the count.

“I believe it; I have heard of such courage before.  But you must not forget that you do not belong to yourself; there is some one else you must think of before you risk your life.”

Count Vavel started violently; he opened his lips as if to speak, but the baroness quickly raised her hand and interposed.

“I am not trying to pry into your secret, Herr Count; I am no spy—­you must have seen that ere this.  All I know is that there is under your protection a woman to whom you are everything, and who will have no one should she lose you.”