His heart beat faster than it did yesterday when the old sergeant faced him.
Here was beauty--he admired that; power--he wished for that.

What might he not accomplish, no matter how wild his move, with this wonderful creature as his friend, his ally, his----He paused, for this house had a master as well as a mistress.
"We will leave in the woman," he said quietly, yet with a sort of trouble in his face.
"In your idea ?" was the negligent question.
"Yes." "Where is the woman ?" insinuated the soft, bewildering voice.
"Here!" he answered emotionally, and he believed it was the truth.

She stood looking meditatively out of the window, not at him.
"In Pontiac ?" she asked presently, turning with a child-like surprise.
"Ah, yes, yes! I know--one of the people; suitable for Pontiac; but is it wise?
She is pretty--but is it wise ?" She was adroitly suggesting Elise Malboir, whose little romance she had discovered.
"She is the prettiest and wisest lady I ever knew, or ever hoped to know," he said earnestly, laying his hand upon his heart.
"How far will your idea take you ?" she asked evasively, her small fingers tightening a gold hair-pin.

"To Paris--to the Tuileries!" he answered, rising to his feet.
"And you start--from Pontiac ?" "What difference, Pontiac or Cannes, like the Great Master after Elba," he said.

"The principle is the same." "The money ?" "It will come," he answered.