“Such philosophy is rare, madame.”

“Philosophy?  No:  I will not call it that.  It was knowledge—­the heart wise in its own wisdom, surpassing mine, telling me that if I would but be patient love would one day seek me out again, wherever I might wait, and give me once more—­life.”

She rose and went to the window, paused there, turning back to Duchemin a face composed but fairer for a deepened flush.

“But this is not writing to my bankers, monsieur,” she said in a changed but steady voice.  “I must do that at once if I am to get the letter in to-day’s post.”

“If madame will accept the advice of one not without some experience...”

“What else does monsieur imagine I am doing?”

“Then you will write privately and burn your blotting paper; after which you will post the letter with your own hands, letting nobody see the address.”

“And when shall I say I will make the journey?”

“As soon as your bankers can send their people to the Chateau de Montalais.”

“That will be in three days...”

“Or less.”

“As soon as your bankers can send their people to the Chateau de Montalais.”

“That will be in three days...”

“Or less.”  “But you will not be strong enough to leave us within another week.”

“What has that to do—?”

“This:  that I refuse positively to go away while you are our guest, monsieur.  Somebody must watch over you and see that you come to no harm.”

“But madame—!”

“No:  I am quite resolved.  Monsieur has too rare a genius for getting in the way of danger.  I shall not leave the chateau before you do.  So I shall set this day week for the date of my journey.”

IX

BLIND MAN’S BUFF

In short, Monsieur Duchemin considered convalescence at the Chateau de Montalais one of the most agreeable of human estates, and counted the cost of admission thereunto by no means dear; and with all his grousing (in respect of which he was conscientious, holding it at once a duty and a perquisite of his disability) he was at heart in no haste whatever to be discharged as whole and hale.  The plain truth is, the man malingered shamelessly and even took a certain pride in the low cunning which enabled him to pose on as the impatient patient when he was so very well content to take his ease, be waited on and catered to, and listen for the footsteps of Eve de Montalais and the accents of her delightful voice.

These last he heard not often enough by half.  Still, he seldom lacked company in the long hours when Eve was busy with the petty duties of her days, and left him lorn.  Madame de Sevenie had taken a flattering fancy to him, and frequently came to gossip beside his bed or chair.  He found her tremendously entertaining, endowed as she was with an excellent and well-stored memory, a gift of caustic characterization and a pretty taste in the scandal of her bygone day and generation, as well as with a mind still active and better informed on the affairs of to-day than that of many a Parisienne of the haute monde and half her age.