f great importance for me to
reach Paris before all the world returns. I 've a chance to get, a post
in one of the West African companies. One makes fortunes out there--if
one survives, and, as you know, I don't set too much store by life."

"We have a proverb," said Shelton, "'A bird in the hand is worth two
birds in the bush!'"

"That," returned Ferrand, "like all proverbs, is just half true. This is
an affair of temperament. It 's not in my character to dandle one when
I see two waiting to be caught; 'voyager, apprendre, c'est plus fort que
moi'." He paused; then, with a nervous goggle of the eyes and an ironic
smile he said: "Besides, 'mon cher monsieur', it is better that I go. I
have never been one to hug illusions, and I see pretty clearly that my
presence is hardly acceptable in this house."

"What makes you say that?" asked, Shelton, feeling that the murder was
now out."

"My dear sir, all the world has not your understanding and your lack of
prejudice, and, though your friends have been extremely kind to me, I
am in a false position; I cause them embarrassment, which is not
extraordinary when you reflect what I have been, and that they know my
history."

"Not through me," said Shelton quickly, "for I don't know it myself."

"It's enough," the vagrant said, "that they feel I'm not a bird of
their feather. They cannot change, neither can I. I have never wanted to
remain where I 'm not welcome."

Shelton turned to the window, and stared into the darkness; he would
never quite understand this vagabond, so delicate, so cynical, and he
wondered if Ferrand had been swallowing down the words, "Why, even you
won't be sorry to see my back!"

"Well," he said at last, "if you must go, you must. When do you start?"

"I 've arranged with a man to carry my things to the early train. I
think it better not to say good-bye. I 've written a letter instead;
here it is. I left it open for you to read if you should wish."

"Then," said Shelton, with a curious mingling of relief, regret,
good-will, "I sha'n't see you again?"

Ferrand gave his hand a stealthy rub, and held it out.

"I shall never forget what you have done for me," he said.

"Mind you write," said Shelton.

"Yes, yes"--the vagrant's face was oddly twisted--"you don't know what
a difference it makes to have a correspondent; it gives one courage. I
hope to remain a long time in correspondence with you."

"I dare say you do," thought Shelton grimly, wit