“Because of Chris?” There was a touch of sharpness in Max’s voice.

Bertrand bent his head.  “You were right that night.  A man cannot hope to hide his heart for ever from the woman whom he loves.”

“You told her, then?”

“It arrived without telling,” Bertrand answered with simplicity.

“That means she cares for you?” Max said shrewdly.

Bertrand looked up. “Mais c’est passe,” he said, his voice very low.  “You have guessed the truth, but you only know it.  Her husband—­”

“My dear fellow, that’s just the mischief.  He knows it too,” Max said.

“He!” Bertrand started upright.

Instantly Max’s hand was upon him, checking him.  “Keep still, Bertrand!  You can’t afford to waste your strength.  Yes, Trevor knows.  He knew on the very day you left.  He found out that that blackguard Rodolphe had been blackmailing her.  He had a scene with Chris, and she left him.”

“Rodolphe! Le canaille!  Est-ce possible?  Alors, she is not—­not with him—­at Valpre—­as I thought?” gasped Bertrand.

“No.  She has not been near him since.  I knew nothing of this till to-day.  She hardly ever writes.  I thought—­as you did—­that she had gone to France with Trevor.  Instead of that, Jack tells me, she has been with his sister in Yorkshire all this time.  She has been ill, is so still, I believe.  They are coming to town to-morrow, to Percy Davenant’s flat.  Jack is very worried about it.  He saw Trevor before he left England, but couldn’t get him to listen to reason.  He seems to have made up his mind to have no more to do with her, while she is fretting herself to a skeleton over it, but daren’t make the first move towards a reconciliation.  It probably wouldn’t do any good if she did.  He is as hard as iron.  And if his mind is once made up—­” Max left the sentence unfinished, and continued:  “I think I shall go to Valpre and see what I can do.  This has gone on long enough, and we can’t have Chris making herself ill.  I should think even he would see the force of that.  This trial business will be over in a few days, and if I don’t catch him he may go wandering, Heaven knows where.  But it won’t do.  He must come back to her.  I shall tell him so.”

But at that Bertrand laid a nervous hand upon his arm.  “My friend,” he said, “you will not persuade him.”

Max looked at him, and was confronted by eyes of gleaming resolution.  “I believe I shall,” he said.  “I can persuade most people.”

“You will not persuade him,” Bertrand repeated.  “That scelerat has poisoned his mind.  Moreover, you do not even know what passed between us.”

“I don’t need to know,” Max said curtly.

Bertrand began to smile.  “And you think you can plead your sister’s cause without knowing, hein?  No, no! the affair is too much advanced.  There is only one man who can help the little Christine now.  He would not listen to you, mon cher, if you went.  But—­to me, he will listen, even though he believes me to be a thief; for he is very just.  I know that I can make him understand.  And for that I shall go to him to-morrow.  As you say, we cannot let la petite fret.”