To rid herself of Captain Rodolphe was her first idea, but this was easier of thought than accomplishment.  He was chatting serenely, in perfect English, and seemed to have taken upon himself the congenial task of entertaining her for some time to come.  He also did not directly address her companion, unless she brought them into contact, and her efforts in this direction very speedily flagged.  She could not expect two men, however courteous, to forget all in a moment the bitter enmity of years merely to oblige her.  They were quite ready to ignore it in her presence, but the consciousness of it was more than Chris could endure with equanimity.  It disconcerted her at every turn.  She felt as if she trod the edge of a volcano, and her nerves, which had been so severely strained for the past week, could not face this fresh ordeal.

She turned at last in desperation, almost appealingly, to Bertrand.  She knew he would understand.  Had he ever failed her in this respect or in any other?

“Do you mind going to see if I have dropped my handkerchief in the car?” she asked him, with a nervous smile.

His smile answered hers.  Yes, he understood.  “I shall go with pleasure,” he said, and with a quick bow was gone.

Chris breathed a little sigh of relief, and moved on with her escort into the rose-garden.

He seemed scarcely aware of Bertrand’s departure.  He was plainly engrossed in the pleasant pastime of conversing with her.  Chris began to give him more of her attention.  No, she certainly did not like the man.  His sneer and his self-assurance disturbed her.  He made her uncomfortably conscious of her own youth and inexperience.  She almost felt as if he were playing with her.

He talked at some length upon roses, a subject upon which he seemed to be well informed, listened tolerantly to any remarks she made, and finally conducted her to a long shrubbery that led back to the lawn.

As they entered this, he lightly wound up the thread of his discourse and broke it off.  “I have been wondering for long,” he said, “where it was that I had seen you before.  Now I remember.”

She turned a startled face towards him.  He was smiling with extreme complacence, but there was to her something sinister, something even threatening, about the bushy brows that shadowed his gleaming eyes.  He put her in mind of a carrion-crow searching for treasures on a heap of refuse.

The impulse to deny all knowledge of him seized her—­a blind impulse, blindly followed.  “I think you must be mistaken,” she said.

“How?” he ejaculated.  “You do not remember Valpre—­and what happened there?”

She saw her mistake on the instant, and hastened to cover it.  “Valpre!” she said, frowning a little.  “Yes, I remember Valpre, though it is years since I was there.  But you—­did I meet you at Valpre, Captain Rodolphe?”

He bowed with a gallantry that seemed to her exaggerated.  “Only once, madame, but that once was enough to stamp you ineffaceably upon my memory.  It was, in fact, a memorable occasion.  And I forget—­never!” Again with empressement he bowed.  “And still you do not remember me?” he said.