"He will not keep faith. Sometime he will lie about me. The despatch has
gone by the _Jean Bart_, but that part of our defense is far to reach."

"Well, Chovet is gold dumb, and as for the Jacobin, no man can tell. If
he be wise, he will stick to his tale of highwaymen. Of course I asked
Chovet to let the minister learn of this sad accident, but he did not
arrive until after I had the fellow well scared."

"Is that all?"

"No. The man is in torment. Damn! if I were in pain like that, I should
kill myself. Except that fever, I never had anything worse than a
stomachache in all my life. The man is on the rack, and Chovet declares
that he will never use the arm again, and will have some daily reminder
of you so long as he lives. Now, Rene, a man on the rack may come to say
things of the gentleman who turned on the torture."

"Then some day he will lie, and I, _mon Dieu_, will be ruined. Who will
believe me? The State Department will get the credit of it, and I shall
be thrown over--sacrificed to the wolves of party slander."

"Not if I am here."

"If you are here?"

"Yes. At any time I may have to go home."

"Then let us tell the whole story."

"Yes, if we must; but wait. Why go in search of trouble? For a time,
perhaps always, he will be silent. Did you get a receipt for the
despatch?"

"No. The captain would not give one unless I went to his cabin and that
I dared not do."

"I, as the older man, should have pointed out to you the need of using
every possible means to get an acknowledgment from the captain; but you
were right. Had you gone on board the ship, you would never have left
her. Well, then there is more need to play a silent, waiting game until
we know, as we shall, of the papers having reached their destination. In
fact, there is nothing else to do. There will be a nice fuss over the
papers, and then it will all be forgotten."

"Yes, unless he speaks."

"If he does, there are other cards in my hand. Meanwhile, being a good
Samaritan, I have again seen Carteaux. He will, I think, be silent for a
while. Be at ease, my son; and now I must go to bed. I am tired."

This was one of many talks; none of them left Rene at ease. How could he
as yet involve a woman he loved in his still uncertain fate! He was by
no means sure that she loved him; that she might come to do so he felt
to be merely possible, for the modesty of love made him undervalue
himself and see her as far beyond his deserts. His mother'