thoughtlessly taken a place by her side, forgetful of Jerome's teachings, but she commanded coldly:
"Monsieur will stand."
And I stood.
"You are a stranger in Paris, you seem a man of honour; for those reasons I choose you. I would not care to have one of my own gentlemen know what I wish to do. All Paris would talk of it to-morrow. We in the palace see naught of the common people, and I have long dreamed it would be a brave adventure to go unknown among them, to their inns and gathering places. I have always desired to know more of our Paris, especially one place which I hear mentioned frequently of late. My position will not permit me to visit it openly—you understand."
I protested that knowing naught of the streets I should be but a blind guide.
"I know where I would go," she said, determinedly, brushing aside the difficulties I would suggest, "and I will go; you will go too."
I was vastly troubled at this, for might it not lead to such another escapade as came so near costing me dear? Her eyes fixed full upon me, her voice blended a command which no man dared disobey, with an entreaty which none would willingly run counter to, and I gave reluctant assent.
"Will you await me here?" she demanded rather than asked. "My apartments are in this building. I will return very briefly."
When the lady came back she would never have been
