ph had drawn near. He watched the enthusiasm
with which the crowd received every little detail of the egregious
history. Everybody believed the old man, who was safe, no matter
what happened to himself, Ranulph Delagarde, ex-artilleryman,
ship-builder--and son of a criminal. At any rate the worst was over now,
the first public statement of the lifelong lie. He drew a sigh of relief
and misery in one. At that instant he caught sight of the flushed
face of Detricand, who broke into a laugh of tipsy mirth when Olivier
Delagarde told how the French officer had stricken him down as he was
about finishing off Rullecour.

All at once the whole thing rushed upon Ranulph. What a fool he had
been! He had met this officer of Rullecour's these ten years past, and
never once had the Frenchman, by so much as a hint, suggested that he
knew the truth about his father. Here and now the contemptuous mirth
upon the Frenchman's face told the whole story. The danger and horror of
the situation descended on him. Instantly he started towards Detricand.

At that moment his father caught sight of Detricand also, saw the laugh,
the sneer, and recognised him. Halting short in his speech he turned
pale and trembled, staring as at a ghost. He had never counted on this.
His breath almost stopped as he saw Ranulph approach Detricand.

Now the end was come. His fabric of lies would be torn down; he would
be tried and hanged on the Mont es Pendus, or even be torn to pieces by
this crowd. Yet he could not have moved a foot from where he was if he
had been given a million pounds.

The sight of Ranulph's face revealed to Detricand the true meaning of
this farce and how easily it might become a tragedy. He read the story
of the son's torture, of his sacrifice; and his decision was instantly
made: he would befriend him. Looking straight into his eyes, his own
said he had resolved to know nothing whatever about this criminal on
the cider-cask. The two men telegraphed to each other a perfect
understanding, and then Detricand turned on his heel, and walked away
into the crowd.

The sudden change in the old man's appearance had not been lost on the
spectators, but they set it down to weakness or a sudden sickness. One
ran for a glass of brandy, another for cider, and an old woman handed up
to him a mogue of cinnamon drops.

The old man tremblingly drank the brandy. When he looked again Detricand
had disappeared. A dark, sinister expression crossed his fac