“Everyone is talking of him,” he said quietly.  “And I gather that he has been arrested.”

“Oh, Trevor!” she breathed in dismay.

“Max is with him,” he reminded her.  “I don’t think they would get rid of him very easily.  We shall know more when we get there.”

They clattered on to the plage, and the cold sea wind blew in upon them.

Noel snuffed it appreciatively.  “Smells decent, anyway.  Wonder if they’re still running the same old show.  I say, Chris, do you remember the Goat?”

Chris did.  With her face to the dark sea and the sound of its waves in her ears, she recalled the old light-hearted days and the shrill admonitions of Mademoiselle Gautier.  How often had she prophesied disaster for her charge among the rocks of Valpre!  Chris smiled a little piteous smile.  Ah, well!

The fiacre jerked and jolted over the stones.  They left the plage behind and came to a standstill with a violent swerve.

“Now what?” said Noel.

They seemed to have come suddenly upon a crowd of people.  Late though it was, all Valpre apparently was awake and abroad.

They staggered on again at a snail’s pace, hearing voices all about them, now and then catching glimpses of faces in the light of the carriage-lamps.

“Feels like a funeral procession!” observed Noel jocularly.

“Shut up!” said Mordaunt curtly.

Chris squeezed his hand very hard and said nothing.

Slowly, slowly they drew near to the hotel.  A glare of lights shone upon them.  The whole place was a buzz of excitement.

They turned into the courtyard, passing two soldiers on guard at the gate.  No one spoke to them, or attempted to delay their progress.  They stopped before the swing-doors.

An obsequious official came forward to greet them as they descended, and Mordaunt entered into conversation with him.  Two soldiers were on guard here also, standing like images on each side of the entrance.  Noel studied them with frank interest.  Chris stood and waited as one in a dream.

At last her husband turned to her.  He introduced the obsequious one, who bowed very low and declared himself enchanted.  And then she found herself moving through the vestibule, where a great many men of all nationalities looked at her curiously and a great babble of voices hummed like some immense machinery.

She turned to the man beside her with a touch of nervousness, and at once his hand closed upon her arm.

“Bertrand is still living,” he said.

She looked up at him imploringly.  “Can’t we go to him?”

“Yes, we are going now.  He is upstairs.  They wanted to take him to the fortress, but he is too ill to be moved.”

They went on together.  He led her into a lift, and they passed out of reach of the staring crowd.

A familiar figure was awaiting them above, and greeted Chris deferentially as she stepped into the corridor.