s a
sacrifice upon his iron altars.

The train arrived in due course; cameras and note-books appeared; and
people inquired "Is it Sir Douglas Haig they are expecting?" But
presently the initiated spread the news that it was Paul Mario who
returned from the Western front, and because his reputation was greater
than that of Gabrielle D'Annunzio or Charlie Chaplin, everyone sought to
obtain a glimpse of him.

He wore a heavy fur-lined coat and his eyes were dark with excitement.
Surrounded by the other members of the party, like an emperor by his
suite, Paul's was the outstanding personality among them all. There was
a distinguished French general to bow, courtly, over Yvonne's hand, and
a Labour Member to quote Cicero. But it was to Paul that the reporters
sought to penetrate and upon Paul that the cameras were focussed.
Bassett, who did not believe in thwarting the demands of popularity,
induced him to say a few words.

"Gentlemen," he said, "I have no impressions to impart. My mind is
numbed. I had never hitherto appreciated the genius of Philip Gibbs...."

In the car Paul talked exclusively to Jules Thessaly, who had
accompanied him upon his tour. Yvonne was silent. When first he had seen
her awaiting him upon the platform his eyes had lighted up in that
ardent way which she loved, and he had pressed her hands very hard in
greeting. But thereafter he had become absorbed again in his giant
dreams, and now as they sped through the London streets homeward, he
bent forward, one hand resting upon Thessaly's knee, wrapped up in the
companionship of his memories.

"That chateau, Thessaly, holds a secret which if it could be divulged to
the world would revolutionise theology."

"Of what chateau do you speak?" asked Bassett.

"On my way to the French front I was entertained for a night at a
wonderful old chateau. The devouring war had passed it by, and it stood
like a dignified _grand seigneur_ looking sorrowfully over the
countryside. In order to understand how the sight of the place affected
me you must know that as a boy I was several times visited by a certain
dream. I last dreamed this dream during the time that I was at Oxford
but I have never forgotten it. I used to find myself in a spacious
salon, its appointments and fashion those of Louis Treize, with ghostly
moonlight pouring in at lofty church-like windows and painting distorted
shadowgraphs of heraldic devices upon the floor. My costume was that of
a Caval