A softer note in the last sentence made her aware that he was smiling.  She bent a little above him.  But still she waited.

“Comment?” he said.  “You are afraid?  But why, my bird of Paradise?  Is it life that you fear—­this little life of shadows?  Or Death—­which is the gateway to our great Reality?  Listen, mignonne!  I am a prisoner while I live, but the gate opens to me.  Soon I shall be free.  No, no!  I cannot take you with me.  I would not, cherie, if I could.  Your place is here.  But remember—­always—­that I love you still.  And my love is stronger than death.  It stretches into eternity.”

He paused, and made a slight gesture of refusal.  “Ah, no!” he said.  “I do not want a priest.  My sins are all known—­and pardoned.  I only want—­one thing now.”

“What is it, old chap?” It was Max Wyndham’s voice, but pitched so low that Chris scarcely recognized it.

The head on the pillow moved, turning towards the speaker.  “So, mon ami, you are still there?”

“What is it you are wanting?” Max said.

Bertrand drew a breath that was cut short and ended in a gasp. “Mon ami, I only want—­to hold her little hand in mine—­and to hear her say—­that she is—­happy.”

And then it was that Chris moved forward, as if impelled by a volition not her own, and knelt down by Bertrand’s side.

“Do you want me, Bertie?” she said.  “I’ve come, dear!  I’ve come!”

He put out his hand to her at once, but slowly, as though feeling his way.  “Christine!” he said.

She took the groping hand, and held it fast pressed between her own.  “Yes, dear?” she murmured.

“You are really here?” he said.  “It is not—­a dream?”

“No, Bertie, no!  It is I myself, here with you at Valpre.”

She felt his hand close within her own.  “You are come—­to say good-bye to me?” he said.  “And Mr. Mordaunt—­is he here also?”

“He brought me,” whispered Chris.

“Ah!” She heard the relief in his voice.  “Then—­Christine, all is right between you?”

But she was silent, for she could not answer him.

He stirred.  He leaned slowly forward.  “Tell me,” he said, very earnestly, “tell me that all is well between you.”

But Chris said no word.  She only bowed her head over the hand she held.

There was a brief silence.  Bertrand was bending over her.  He seemed to be trying to see her face.  He moved at last, passed his free arm around her, and spoke.  “Mr. Mordaunt—­is he here?”

“Yes, I am here.”  Very steadily came Mordaunt’s answer.  Mordaunt himself took Max’s place beside him.

Bertrand looked up at him.  “Monsieur—­” he said, and hesitated.

“Ask him what he wants,” muttered Max, gripping his brother-in-law’s elbow with tense insistence.

“Do you want anything?” He uttered the question at once, quite clearly, without emotion.