CHAPTER XVIII.
A Strange Good Humor.
For a moment Marie Delhasse stood looking at me; then she uttered a low cry, full of relief, of security, of joy; and coming to me stretched out her hands, saying: "You are here then, after all!" Charmed to see how she greeted me, I had not the heart to tell her that her peril was not past; nor did she give me the opportunity, for went on directly: "And you are wounded?
But not badly, not badly, Mr.Aycon ?" "Who told you I was wounded ?" "Why, the duke.

He said that you had been shot by a thief, and were very badly hurt; and--and--" She stopped, blushing.
("Where is he ?" I remembered the words; my forecast of their meaning had been true.) "And did what he told you," I asked softly, "make you leave the convent and come to find me ?" "Yes," she answered, taking courage and meeting my eyes.

"And then you were not here, and I thought it was a trap." "You were right; it was a trap.

I came to find you at the convent, but you were gone: only by the chance of meeting with a friend who saw the duke's carriage standing here have I found you." "You were seeking for me ?" "Yes, I was seeking for you." I spoke slowly, as though hours were open for our talk; but suddenly I remembered that at any moment the old witch might return.

And I had much to say before she came.
"Marie--" I began eagerly, never thinking that the name she had come to bear in my thoughts could be new and strange from my lips.