Christian laughed.  “You little white moth!  Feel how hot I am!  You’ll burn your wings!”

Harz had lain down, fully dressed.  He was no longer angry, but felt that he would rather die than yield.  Presently he heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

“M’sieu!”

It was the voice of Dominique, whose face, illumined by a match, wore an expression of ironical disgust.

“My master,” he said, “makes you his compliments; he says there is no time to waste.  You are to please come and drive with him!”

“Your master is very kind.  Tell him I’m in bed.”

“Ah, M’sieu,” said Dominique, grimacing, “I must not go back with such an answer.  If you would not come, I was to give you this.”

Harz broke the seal and read Christian’s letter.

“I will come,” he said.

A clock was striking as they went out through the gate.  From within the dark cave of the phaeton hood Mr. Treffry said gruffly:  “Come along, sir!”

Harz flung his knapsack in, and followed.

His companion’s figure swayed, the whiplash slid softly along the flank of the off horse, and, as the carriage rattled forward, Mr. Treffry called out, as if by afterthought:  “Hallo, Dominique!” Dominque’s voice, shaken and ironical, answered from behind:  “M’v’la, M’sieu!”

In the long street of silent houses, men sitting in the lighted cafes turned with glasses at their lips to stare after the carriage.  The narrow river of the sky spread suddenly to a vast, limpid ocean tremulous with stars.  They had turned into the road for Italy.

Mr. Treffry took a pull at his horses.  “Whoa, mare!  Dogged does it!” and the near horse, throwing up her head, whinnied; a fleck of foam drifted into Harz’s face.

The painter had come on impulse; because Christian had told him to, not of his own free will.  He was angry with himself, wounded in self-esteem, for having allowed any one to render him this service.  The smooth swift movement through velvet blackness splashed on either hand with the flying lamp-light; the strong sweet air blowing in his face-air that had kissed the tops of mountains and stolen their spirit; the snort and snuffle of the horses, and crisp rattling of their hoofs—­all this soon roused in him another feeling.  He looked at Mr. Treffry’s profile, with its tufted chin; at the grey road adventuring in darkness; at the purple mass of mountains piled above it.  All seemed utterly unreal.

As if suddenly aware that he had a neighbour, Mr. Treffry turned his head.  “We shall do better than this presently,” he said, “bit of a slope coming.  Haven’t had ’em out for three days.  Whoa-mare!  Steady!”

“Why are you taking this trouble for me?” asked Harz.

“I’m an old chap, Mr. Harz, and an old chap may do a stupid thing once in a while!”

“You are very good,” said Harz, “but I want no favours.”