or
which I am ready to give my life. Max--_mon ami_--you will not let me die
before--my work--is done!"

He spoke pantingly, as though speech had become an effort. The strain was
beginning to tell upon him. But his eyes pleaded for him with a dumb
intensity hard to meet.

Max took his wrist once more into his steady grasp. "If you will do as I
tell you," he said, "I will see that you don't. Is that a bargain?"

A faint smile shone in the dark eyes at the peremptoriness of his speech.
"But how you are despotic--you English!" protested the soft voice.

"Do you agree to that?" insisted Max.

"_Mais oui_. I submit myself--always--to you English. How can one--do
other?"

"Then don't talk any more," said Max, with authority. "There's no time
for drivel, so save your breath. You will want it when you get to
Valpre."

"Ah, Valpre!" whispered Bertrand very softly as one utters a beloved
name; and again more softly, "Valpre!"

CHAPTER V

THE STRANGER

A long wave broke with a splash and spread up the sand in a broad band of
silver foam. The tide was at its lowest, and the black rocks of Valpre
stood up stark and grotesque in the evening light. The Gothic archway of
the Magic Cave yawned mysteriously in the face of the cliff, and over it,
with shrill wailings, flew countless seagulls, flashing their wings in
the sunset.

The man who walked alone along the shore was too deeply engrossed in
thought to take much note of his surroundings, although more than once he
turned his eyes towards the darkness of the cave. A belt of rocks
stretched between, covered with slimy, green seaweed. It was evident that
he had no intention of crossing this to explore the mysteries beyond.
Just out of reach of the sea he moved, his hands behind him and his head
bent.

All through the day he had been pent in a stuffy courtroom, closely
following the evidence that, like a net of strong weaving, was gradually
closing around the prisoner Guillaume Rodolphe. All France was seething
over the trial. All Europe watched with vivid interest.

Another man's name had begun to be uttered on all sides, in court and out
of it, coupled continuously with the name of the man who was standing his
trial. Bertrand de Montville, where was he? All France would soon be
waiting to do him justice, to pay him high honour, to compensate him for
the indignities he had wrongfully suffered. He would have to face another
court-martial, it was true; but the ou