sighed heavily. "The people in England did not know," he
said.

"No? Then you think he was guilty?"

He stood up sharply and faced her. "I know that he was innocent," he
said. "But it could not be proved. That is what the English could never
realize. And--_cherie_--I was that man. I was Lieutenant de Montville."

Chris was gazing at him in amazement. "You!" she said incredulously.

"I," he said. "They accused me of treason. They thought that I would sell
my own gun--my own gun. They sent me to prison--_mon Dieu_! I know not
how I survived. I suffered until it seemed that I could suffer no more.
And then they gave me my liberty--they banished me from France. I came to
England--and I starved."

"You starved, Bertie!" Her blue eyes widened with horrified pity. "You!"
she said. "You!"

He smiled with wistful humour. "Men more worthy than I have done the
same," he said.

"Oh, but you, my own _preux chevalier_!" Chris's voice trembled upon the
words.

He made a quick, restraining gesture. "But no--not that!" he said. "Your
friend always, _petite_, but your _preux chevalier_--never again!"

Chris smiled, with quivering lips. "You will never be anything but my
_preux chevalier_ so long as you live," she said. "Oh, Bertie, I'm so
distressed--so grieved--to think of all you have had to bear. I never
dreamt of its being you. You know, I never heard your name. We went
away so suddenly from Valpre. I had no time to think of anything. I--I
was very miserable--afterwards." Her voice sank; her eyes were full of
tears. "I knew you would think I had forgotten, but indeed, indeed it
wasn't that!"

"Ah, _pauvre petite_!" he said gently.

"And you didn't know my name either, did you?" she said. "I kept telling
myself you would find out somehow and write--but you never did."

He spread out his hands. "But what could I do? Your name was not known.
And I--I could not leave Valpre to seek you. My duties kept me at the
fortress. And so--and so--I said that I would wait until my fortune was
well assured, and then--then--" He stopped. "But that is past," he said,
with an odd little smile that somehow cut her to the heart. "_Et
maintenant_ tell me of yourself, _petite_, of all your affairs. Much may
arrive in four years. But first--you are happy, yes?"

Eagerly the dark eyes sought hers as he asked the question.

Chris looked back at him with a little frown. "Yes, I am happy, Bertie.
At least--I should be happy--if it weren't for