He smiled.  “But yes,” he said.  “I think that I will come and take care of you.”

She nodded.  “Do!  But they are not dangerous, not very.  Where is Aunt Philippa?”

He spread out his hands whimsically.  “She has not given me her confidence.”

Chris laughed.  Actually she was feeling almost lighthearted.  Till that moment she had had a morbid dread of being alone with him, and now behold her dread vanishing in mirth!  Surely she had been very foolish, like a child frightened at shadows!

“I wonder where she is,” she said.  “I am afraid I have been playing truant this morning.  I shall have to apologize, though it was all Noel’s fault.  Do see if you can find Mrs. Forest,” she added to a servant just entering.  “Ask her if she is ready for luncheon.”

“Mrs. Forest is out in the motor, and has not yet returned,” was the information this elicited.

“How odd!” said Chris.  “What had we better do?”

Bertrand shrugged his shoulders, still looking quizzical.  “We must not lunch without her, bien sur.  Let us go into the garden.”

They went into the garden, and walked for a space in the September sunshine.

They talked at first upon commonplace topics, and Chris was wholly at her ease.  But presently Bertrand turned the conversation with an abrupt question.

“Christine, tell me, you have never seen that scoundrel Rodolphe again?”

She started a little, and was conscious that she changed colour, but she answered him instantly.  “No, never.  But—­why do you ask?”

Very gravely he made reply.  “I have feared lately that there was something that troubled you.  I was wrong, yes?”

He looked at her anxiously.

She did not answer him, she could not.

“Eh bien,” he said gently, after a moment.  “It was not that.  You have heard that he has been recalled to France—­that there is a rumour that there have been revelations that may lead to a court-martial?”

“No!” said Chris in amazement.  “Do you mean—­”

He bent his head.  “It is possible.”

“That you may be vindicated?” she questioned eagerly.  “Oh, Bertie!”

“It is possible,” he repeated.  “Yet I will not permit myself to hope.  It is no more than a rumour.  It is also possible that it may not even touch the old affaire, since he made no appearance at my trial.”

“But if it did!” said Chris.

He gave her an odd look.  “If it did, Christine?” he questioned.

“You would go back with flying colours,” she said.  “You would be reinstated surely!”

He shook his head.  “I do not think it.”

“You mean you wouldn’t go?” she asked.

He turned his face up to the sun with a peculiar gesture.  “Who can say?” he said, with closed eyes.  “Me, I think that the good God has other plans for me.  I may be justified—­I do not know.  But I shall wear the uniform of the French Army—­never again.”