“Very well, then; let it be a sacrifice—­as you will!  I am a willing victim!  I owe you a debt of gratitude; I want to pay it.  Now go and order the carriage; I will wait here for you.”

Every drop of blood in his body rebelled against his accepting this offer.  A woman rescue a strong man from a threatened danger!  And at what a risk!

“Well,” a trifle impatiently exclaimed the baroness, as he still lingered, “are n’t you going to fetch your cloak?  I am ready for the drive.”

Without another word the count turned and strode toward the castle.

Marie was satisfied with the excuse he made for not taking her with him as usual:  he said he had urgent business in the neighboring village, and would have to drive there alone.

Then he ordered Henry to harness the horses to the carriage, and drive down to the gate, where he would await him.

He found the baroness waiting for him where he had left her.

“Well,” she began, when he came near enough to hear her, “have you decided to take me with you?”

“No.”

“Then you are going to take the lady?”

“No.”

“Not?  Then who is going with you?”

“These two pistols,” replied the count, flinging back his cloak and revealing the weapons thrust into his pocket.  “With these two companions I am going to meet the gentleman who is so determined to see the face of the veiled lady.  I shall show him a lady whose face is not a subject of gossip.”

The baroness uttered a cry of terror, and seized Count Vavel’s hand.

“No, no; you shall not go alone.  Listen.  I was prepared for just such a decision on your part, so I wrote this letter.  If you persist in going alone to meet the colonel, I shall hurry back to the manor, send my groom on the swiftest horse I own with this letter to Colonel Barthelmy.  Read it.”

She unfolded the letter she had taken from her pocket, and held it so that Count Vavel might read, without taking it in his hands: 

     “HERR COLONEL:  You need not seek Mme. Ange Barthelmy at the
     Nameless Castle.  The veiled lady seen in company with Count Vavel
     is

     “B.  KATHARINA LANDSKNECHTSSCHILD.”

In speechless amazement Count Vavel looked down at the baroness, who calmly folded the letter and returned it to her pocket.

“Now you may go if you like,” she said coolly, “and I, too, shall do as I like!  The colonel will then have written proof to justify him in dragging my name in the dust!”

The count gazed long and earnestly into the lovely face turned defiantly toward him.  What was said by those glowing eyes, what was expressed by those lips trembling with excitement, could not be mere sport.  There is only one name for the emotion which urges a woman to risk so much for a man; and if Count Vavel guessed the name, then there was nothing for him to do but offer his arm to the lady and say: