nd lunched at a quaint little village
near the Belgian frontier; and quite lost himself; and dined in a
farmhouse; and finally, set upon the road again, reached Paris after
midnight, where he alighted in front of his club. He was in a "humour"
now, as he put it himself. A little supper and a hand at cards would
complete, round out a day of rare delight. He was even humming an air
to himself, as he entered the club.

"_Pardon_, Monsieur Laparde!"--the doorman was bowing respectfully.
"Monsieur Valmain is in one of the private writing rooms--the one at
the head of the stairs, monsieur."

Jean stopped his humming, and stared at the man.

"Well--and what of that?" he demanded.

"But, monsieur!" murmured the man, a little abashed. "Monsieur expects
to meet Monsieur Valmain, does he not? Monsieur Valmain left word."

Jean scowled, and passed on. Paul Valmain! Paul Valmain! Paul
Valmain! What devil of perversity had seen fit to drag Paul Valmain
upon the scene? Was his day to be ruined by a bad taste in his mouth?
What did the man want?

He went upstairs, knocked upon the door indicated, and, without waiting
for an answer, opened it rather brusquely, stepped inside--and, with an
exclamation of angry surprise, gazed at the man who seemed literally to
have rushed across the room to confront him. Paul Valmain's face was
positively livid, the eyes burned as though consumed with fever, the
hands shook, and the tall form quivered in the most astonishing
fashion. Was the man mad?

"Ah, Monsieur Jean Laparde!" the other cried out. "You have come at
last! You saw fit to absent yourself to-day! I have been five times
to the studio! But you thought it better to answer my message finally,
eh? You did well! I should have gone again in an hour to dig you out!"

Jean eyed the other for a moment, contempt struggling with bewilderment
for the mastery at the man's actions and incoherent outburst.

"You have perhaps been drinking," he said coldly. "I received no
message until I entered the club here an instant ago. And I am not to
be 'dug out,' Monsieur Valmain! You are using strange language. If
you are drunk, apologise; otherwise--"

"Otherwise!"--the word came like a devil's laugh from Paul Valmain; and
before Jean could move, or, taken by surprise, guard himself, the flat
of Paul Valmain's hand had swung in a stinging blow across Jean's
mouth. "You--_hound_!"

The blood came surging into Jean's face, and w