“No,” Max returned vigorously.  “Now listen to me, Bertrand.  If I am to keep quiet about this illness of yours, you have got to make me a promise.”

Bertrand raised his brows interrogatively.

“Just this,” Max said, “that if you find yourself at a loose end, you will come to me.”

Bertrand looked quizzical.  “A loose end?” he questioned.

“You know what it means all right,” Max returned sternly.  “Is it a promise?”

“That I come to you if I need a friend?” amended Bertrand.  “But—­why should I do that?”

“Because I am a friend if you like,” said Max bluntly.

Bertrand’s hand closed hard upon his.  “I have—­no words,” he said, in a voice from which all banter had departed.

Max gripped the hand.  “Then it’s a promise?”

Bertrand hesitated.

“You have no choice,” Max reminded him.  “And if you will come to me I can find a way to help you.  It wouldn’t even be difficult.  And you would have skilled nursing and attention.  Come, it’s either that or Trevor will have to be told.  He’ll see that you don’t go back to starve in the streets.”

“I will not have Mr. Mordaunt told,” Bertrand said quickly and firmly.

“Then you will give me this promise,” Max returned immovably.

With a gesture of helplessness the Frenchman yielded. “Eh bien, I promise.”

“Good!” said Max.  He laid Bertrand’s hand down and rose.

Yet a moment he stood above him, looking downwards.  “You keep your promises, eh?” he asked abruptly.

Bertrand flushed.  “I am a man of honour,” he said proudly.

“Yes, I know you are.”  Max touched his shoulder with a boyish, propitiatory movement.  “I beg your pardon, old chap.  I’d be one myself if I could.”

“But you—­but you—­” Bertrand protested in confusion.

“I am a Wyndham,” said Max, with a bitter smile.  “It doesn’t run in our family, that.  But I’ll play the game with you, man, just because you’re straight.”

He patted Bertrand’s shoulder lightly, and turned away.  There were not many who knew Max Wyndham intimately, and of those not one who would have credited the fact that the innate honour of a French castaway had somehow made him feel ashamed.

CHAPTER XIII

WOMANHOOD

“A thousand thanks, chere Madame, for the generous favour which you have bestowed upon me!  I shall make it my business to see that no rumour of your droll secret of Valpre ever reach the ear of the strict husband, lest he should imagine that among the rocks of that paradise there lies entombed something more precious to him than the gay romance of your youth.

“To this undertaking I subscribe my signature, with many compliments to the good secretary; and to you, chere Madame, my ever constant devotion.

“Toujours a vous, GUILLAUME RODOLPHE.