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 order that she might inform you of that fact—which, by the way, happens to be the case."

It was a view of it that never before had presented itself to O'Rourke. For an instant, so confidently did the duke advance it, he was shaken by a suspicion that this might be the truth.

And then he remembered her word-of-mouth message to Chambret—that she needed O'Rourke—and the miniature that she had sent him, that intimate portrait of her whose eyes had spoken to him so eloquently of her steadfast love. And, more than all else, the remembrance of that strengthened O'Rourke and heartened him.

"That," he said coolly, "is lie number two, Monsieur the Duke. Faith, if it were truth, why did ye find it necessary to spirit madame away?"

"And have we done so?" For affected surprise, the duke's was almost convincing.

"Beyond doubt, ye did."

"Ah, Monsieur the Colonel deceives himself. To be frank with you, madame is at this moment in Paris, for all I know to the contrary."

"Which I'll take the liberty of branding as lie number three. If that were truth, ye would not have troubled to capture me before I could find it out for meself."

"Very well, monsieur. Have it your own way." Assuredly the duke had his temper well in hand. He bowed his head forward, caressing his chin with his strong, slender fingers, and seemed to ponder O'Rourke deeply.

Under this meditative yet insolent regard, the Irishman grew restive.

"The divvle!" he cried impatiently. "Will ye be kind enough to signify your intentions with regard to me?"