“Why, Holmes!” she said, and held out her hand to him.

He took it with reverence.  For the first time in her memory she detected a hint of emotion on his impassive face.

“He—­hasn’t gone, Holmes?” she whispered breathlessly.

“No, madam.  He is waiting for you,” Holmes made answer, very gently.

Waiting for her!  She smiled piteously in her relief.  Bertrand de Montville would be her perfect knight to the last.

As they went on down the long corridor she missed the grasp of her husband’s fingers, and stopped like a child to slip her hand back into his.

He looked down at her gravely, saying nothing.  And so they came at last to the door of Bertrand’s room.

Two soldiers were on guard here also.  The door was closed.

Holmes went quietly forward and showed a paper to one of the sentries.

Chris waited with a beating heart.  Suddenly, with a sob, she turned and clung to her husband’s arm.  “Trevor, I—­I am afraid!”

“There is no need,” he said.

“I have never seen death,” she whispered.  “Will he seem—­different?”

He looked at her for a second in such a way that her eyes fell from his.

“Would you like me to go in first?” he asked.

“No—­no.  Only, Trevor, hold my hand!  You won’t let go?  Promise!”

He did not promise, but somehow without words he reassured her.  The door opened before them, and they entered.

CHAPTER X

THE INDESTRUCTIBLE

Within the room all was dim.

An arm-chair piled with many pillows stood facing the open window, and as her eyes became accustomed to the twilight Chris discerned the outline of a figure that reclined in it.  At the same moment there came to her the sound of a voice, husky and difficult, yet how strangely familiar.

“Ah, but the tide—­the tide!” it said.  “Can we not hold it back my dear Max—­a little longer?  It rushes up so fast—­so fast.  Soon all will be gone.  Only a picture in the sand, you say?  But no, it is more than that.  See, it is greater than all the things in the world—­greater than the Sphinx, ma petite—­greater than your Cleopatra’s Needle.  Ah, you laugh, because you have no need of it.  But yet it is your own, and so will it always be.  Do you hear the tide among the rocks, mignonne?  It is there that my heart is buried.  Come with me, and I will show you the place—­if the tide permit.”

There came a gasp, and silence.

Some one guided Chris gently forward till she stood behind the great chair at the window, looking down upon the black head that rested against the pillow.  Her fear had passed, but yet she drew no nearer.  Instinctively she stood and waited.

Suddenly, and more clearly, the voice spoke again.

“We must climb, cherie, we must climb.  We dare not stay upon these rocks.  It is steep for your little feet, but to remain here is to die. Alors, we will say our prayers and go. Le bon Dieu will keep us safe.  And we have been—­pals—­since so long.”