“Oh, Max is there!” she said, with relief.  “But what is he doing at Valpre?”

“He went there with Bertrand.”

“But I thought Bertrand could not go to France,” she hazarded.

“He went in disguise.”

“Why?” Her lips trembled upon the word.

“Because he had something to say to me.”  With the utmost calmness his answer came.

“Ah!” She started and turned so white that he put out a hand to steady her.

She laid her own within it, as it were instinctively, because she needed support.

“What was it?” she whispered.

He looked at her gravely.  “Are you afraid to be alone with me?” he said.

“No.”

“Then—­quick march!” said Jack, with his hand through Noel’s arm.

They went out together, Noel glancing back for the smallest sign from his sister to remain.

But she made none.  She stood quite still, with her hand in her husband’s, waiting.

As the door closed Mordaunt spoke.  “Have you been ill?”

“No,” she said faintly.  “Not—­not really ill.”

She was aware of his close scrutiny for a moment, but she made not the slightest attempt to meet it.

“You want to know what Bertrand said to me,” he said.  “And you have a right to know.  He told me the whole history of your friendship from the beginning to the end.”

“He told you about—­about Valpre?” Her eyelids quivered, as if she wished to raise them but dared not.

“Yes.”

“Then you know—­” Her hand fluttered in his.

“I know everything,” he said.

Her white face quivered piteously.  “And you—­you are still angry?”

“No, I am not angry.”  He led her back to the sofa.  “Sit down a minute,” he said.  “I don’t think you are quite fit for this, and if you are going back with me to Valpre, you will need to reserve your strength.”

He sat down beside her, both her hands firmly clasped in his, as if thereby he would impart to her the strength she lacked.

“You mean me to go, then?” murmured Chris.

“Don’t you want to go?” he asked.

“If he really wants me—­” she faltered.  “And if you—­you wish it, too.”

“My dear,” he said, “do my wishes make any real difference?”

She caught her breath sharply, and bent her head that he might not see her face.  “Yes,” she whispered, under her breath.

“Very well,” he said, “I wish it, too.”

She was silent, but suddenly her tears began to fall upon the strong hands that held hers.  She would have given anything to have repressed them at that moment.  With her whole soul she shrank from showing him her weakness, but it overpowered her.  She bowed her head lower still, and wept.

He sat quite motionless for seconds, so that even in the depth of her distress she marvelled at his patience.  But at last, very gently, he moved, let her hands go, and rose.