ued. I shall repose myself, and I shall find
myself well."

"Yes, you will be better after a sleep," Mordaunt said. "You shall settle
down when you have had this, and sleep the clock round."

He was aware once more of the Frenchman's puzzled eyes watching him as he
submissively took the nourishment, but he paid no heed to them. It was
not his intention to encourage any discussion just then.

Outside, the rain pattered incessantly, beating against the windows. At a
sudden gust of hail de Montville shivered.

"Monsieur," he said, choosing his words with care, "your great kindness
is such as I can never hope to repay, but permit me to assure you that my
gratitude will constrain me to regard myself your debtor till death. If
it is ever in my power to serve you, I will render that service, cost
what it may. You have called me by my name. It appears that you know me?"

He paused for an answer.

"Yes, I know you," Mordaunt said.

"And for that you extend to me the hand of friendship?" questioned the
Frenchman, his quick eyes still searching the Englishman's quiet face.

Mordaunt's eyes looked gravely back. "I also happen to believe in you,"
he said. "Otherwise I should probably have helped you because you needed
it; but I most certainly should not have brought you here."

"Ah!" Sudden understanding flashed into de Montville's face; he leaned
forward, stuttering with eagerness. "You--you--I know you now! I know
you! You are the English journalist, the man who believed in me even
against reason, against evidence--in spite of all! I remember you
well--well! I remember your eyes. They sent me a message. They gave me
courage. They told me that you knew--that you were my friend--the only
friend, monsieur, that was not ashamed of me. And I thanked _le bon Dieu_
that night--that terrible night--simply because I had looked into your
eyes."

He broke off in quivering agitation. Trevor Mordaunt's hand was on his
shoulder. "Easy--easy!" the quiet voice said. "You are exciting yourself,
my dear fellow, and you mustn't. You must go to sleep. This matter will
very well keep till morning."

De Montville's face was hidden in his shaking hands. "If I could thank
you--if I could make you comprehend--" he murmured brokenly.

"I do comprehend. I comprehend perfectly." Mordaunt's voice was soothing
now, almost motherly. He stroked the bent shoulders with a consoling
touch. "Come, man! You are used up; you are ill. Lie down and rest."