hall idle a good deal, for my time with you here is
shortening, and I want to have a great store of laziness behind me for
memory, when I've got my nose to the grindstone."

He turned to the door, and said: "Marmion, I wish you weren't going. I
wish that we might be comrades under the same roof till--" He paused and
smiled strangely.

"Till the finish," I added, "when we should amble grey-headed, sans
everything, out of the mad old world? I imagine Miss Belle Treherne
would scarcely fancy that.... Still, we can be friends just the same.
Our wives won't object to an occasional bout of loafing together, will
they?"

I was determined not to take him too seriously. He said nothing, and in
a moment he was gone.

I passed the morning idly enough, yet thinking, too, very much about
my friend. I was anxiously hoping that the telegram from Winnipeg would
come. About noon it came. It was not known quite in what part of the
North-west, Madras (under his new name) was, for the corps of mounted
police had been changed about recently. My letter had, however, been
forwarded into the wilds.

I saw no immediate way but to go to Mrs. Falchion and make a bold bid
for his peace. I had promised Madras never to let her know that he was
alive, but I would break the promise if Madras himself did not come.
After considerable hesitation I started. It must be remembered that the
events of the preceding chapter were only known to me afterwards.

Justine Caron was passing through the hall of the hotel when I arrived.
After greetings, she said that Mrs. Falchion might see me, but that they
were very busy; they were leaving in the evening for the coast. Here
was a pleasant revelation! I was so confused with delight at the
information, that I could think of nothing more sensible to say than
that the unexpected always happens. By this time we were within Mrs.
Falchion's sitting-room. And to my remark, Justine replied "Yes, it is
so. One has to reckon most with the accidents of life. The expected is
either pleasant or unpleasant; there is no middle place."

"You are growing philosophic," said I playfully. "Monsieur," she said
gravely, "I hope as I live and travel, I grow a little wiser." Still she
lingered, her hand upon the door.

"I had thought that you were always wise."

"Oh no, no! How can you say so? I have been very foolish sometimes."...
She came back towards me. "If I am wiser I am also happier," she added.

In that moment we unders