"Has your brother told you about the man we met at the Visitors'
Chateau?" asked Father Beckett, when between the two men--and my
reminiscences--the story of the tour was finished with those last words
of Brian's.

"No, I haven't told her yet," Brian answered for me.

My nerves jumped. I scarcely knew what I expected to hear. "Not Doctor
Paul Herter?" I exclaimed--and was surprised to hear on my own lips the
name so constantly in my mind.

"Well, that's queer she should speak of _him_, isn't it, Brian? How did
you come to think of Herter?" Father Beckett wanted to know.

"_Was_ it he?" I insisted.

"No. But--you'd better tell her, Brian. I guess you'll have to."

"There isn't much to tell, really," Brian said. "It was only that
oculist chap Herter told you about--Dr. Henri Chrevreuil. He's been
working at the front, as you know: lately it's been the British front;
and they'd taken him in at the chateau for a few days' rest. We met him
there and talked of his friend--your friend, Molly--Doctor Paul."

"What did he say about your eyes?" Dierdre almost gasped. (I should not
have ventured to put the question suddenly, and before people. I should
have been too afraid of the answer. But her nickname is "_Dare!_") "He
must have said something, or Mr. Beckett wouldn't have spoken so. He
_did_ look at your eyes--didn't he? He would, for Herter's sake."

"Yes, he did look at them," Brian admitted. "He didn't say much."

"But what--_what_?"

"He said: 'Wait, and--see.'"

"And see!" Dierdre echoed.

The same thought was in all our minds. As I gazed mutely at Brian, he
gave me the most beautiful smile of his life. He must have felt that I
was looking at him, or he would not so have smiled. Let Jim hate
and--punish me when he comes back, and drive me out of Paradise!
Wherever I may go, there will be the reflection of that smile and the
thought behind it. How can I be unhappy, if Brian need only wait, to
see?

CHAPTER XXX

Padre, my mind is like a thermometer exposed every minute to a different
temperature, but always high or low--never normal.

To tell, or not to tell, Father Beckett what the man I didn't see said
about Jim--or rather, what Julian O'Farrell said that he said! This has
been the constant question; but the thermometer invariably flies up or
down, far from the answer-point.

When our men came back to Amiens, I almost hoped that Puck would do his
worst--carry out his threat and "give me away"