Or so it seemed to him, in the bitterness of his spirit.

Nor would he for an instant grant that his lot was not without its own, peculiar compensations.

At La Roque, a tiny hamlet huddled in the shadow of Montpellier and living almost exclusively upon the tourists that pass that way, it was as Duchemin had foreseen, remembering the American uniform and the face smudged with soot—­that favourite device of the French criminal of the lower class fearing recognition.  For there it appeared that, whereas the motor car was waiting safe and sound enough, its chauffeur had vanished into thin air.  Not a soul could be found who recalled seeing the man after the barouche Tiad left the village.  Whereupon Duchemin asked whether the chauffeur had been a stout man, and being informed that it was so, considered the case complete.  Mesdames de Sevenie et de Montalais, he suggested, might as well then and there give up all hope of ever again seeing that particular chauffeur—­unless by some mischance entirely out of the reckoning of the latter.  The landlord of the auberge, a surly sot, who had supplied the barouche with the man to act as driver and guide in one, took with ill grace the charge that his employee had been in league with the bandits.  But this was true on the word of Madame de Montalais; it was their guide, she said, whom Duchemin had driven over the cliff.  And (as Duchemin had anticipated) her name alone proved enough to silence the landlord’s virtuous protestations.  One could not always avoid being deceived, he declared; he knew nothing of the dead man more than that he had come well recommended.  With which he said no more, but lent an efficient if sullen hand to the task of transferring d’Aubrac to the motor car.

D’Aubrac came to, while this was being accomplished, begged feebly for water, was given it with a little brandy to boot and, comfortably settled in the rear seat, between Louise de Montalais and her grandmother, relapsed once more into unconsciousness.

Learning that Madame de Montalais would drive, Duchemin dissembled a sigh of relief and, standing beside the car, doffed his cap to say good-bye.  He was only too happy to have been of such slight service as the circumstances had permitted; and if at any time he could do more, a line addressed to him at Nimes, poste restante ....

“But if Monsieur Duchemin would be good enough,” Madame de Sevenie interposed in a fretful quaver—­“and if it would not be taking him too far out of his way—­it is night, anything may happen, the car might break down, and I am an old woman, monsieur, with sorely tried nerves—­”

Looking down at him from her place at the wheel, Madame de Montalais added:  “It would be an act of charity, I think, monsieur, if it does not inconvenience you too greatly.”

“On the contrary,” he fabricated without blushing, “you will be obliging a weary man by putting him several miles on his way.”