“My dear fellow, is something the matter?  You look quite haggard.  You haven’t been ill?”

“No, I’ve had a bad night.  That’s all.”

“Oh, I heard something of a riotous scene taking place over here,” he said.  “One of the gardeners was talking about it to Elizabeth.  Your bad night wouldn’t be connected with that, would it?  You haven’t been playing Samaritan?”

“What was it you heard?” I asked quickly.

“I didn’t pay much attention.  He said that there was great excitement at Madame Brossard’s, because a strange woman had turned up and claimed an insane young man at the inn for her husband, and that they had a fight of some sort—­”

“Damnation!” I started from my chair.  “Did Mrs. Harman hear this story?”

“Not last night, I’m certain.  Elizabeth said the gardener told her as she came down to the chateau gates to meet me when I arrived—­it was late, and Louise had already gone to her room.  In fact, I have not seen her yet.  But what difference could it possibly make whether she heard it or not?  She doesn’t know these people, surely?”

“She knows the man.”

“This insane—­”

“He is not insane,” I interrupted.  “He has lost the memory of his earlier life—­lost it through an accident.  You and I saw the accident.”

“That’s impossible,” said George, frowning.  “I never saw but one accident that you—­”

“That was the one:  the man is Larrabee Harman.”

George had struck a match to light a cigar; but the operation remained incomplete:  he dropped the match upon the floor and set his foot upon it.  “Well, tell me about it,” he said.

“You haven’t heard anything about him since the accident?”

“Only that he did eventually recover and was taken away from the hospital.  I heard that his mind was impaired.  Does Louise—­” he began; stopped, and cleared his throat.  “Has Mrs. Harman heard that he is here?”

“Yes; she has seen him.”

“Do you mean the scoundrel has been bothering her?  Elizabeth didn’t tell me of this—­”

“Your sister doesn’t know,” I said, lifting my hand to check him.  “I think you ought to understand the whole case—­if you’ll let me tell you what I know about it.”

“Go ahead,” he bade me.  “I’ll try to listen patiently, though the very thought of the fellow has always set my teeth on edge.”

“He’s not at all what you think,” I said.  “There’s an enormous difference, almost impossible to explain to you, but something you’d understand at once if you saw him.  It’s such a difference, in fact, that when I found that he was Larrabee Harman the revelation was inexpressibly shocking and distressing to me.  He came here under another name; I had no suspicion that he was any one I’d ever heard of, much less that I’d actually seen him twice, two years ago, and I’ve grown to—­ well, in truth, to be fond of him.”

“What is the change?” asked Ward, and his voice showed that he was greatly disquieted.  “What is he like?”