Where is Uncle Nic going?
Tell me!"

Christian tore herself away. "I don't know," she cried, "I know
nothing!"

Greta stroked her face. "Poor Chris!" she murmured. Her bare feet
gleamed, her hair shone gold against her nightdress. "Come to bed, poor
Chris!"

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