Then he had an impression of being lifted into his bed by Jean, and of having his head and shoulders raised by the same arms some time later, so that he might drink a draught of some concoction with a pleasant aromatic taste and odour, in a glass held to his lips by Eve de Montalais.

And then (Duchemin had a faint smile of appreciation for a mental parallel to the technique of the cinema) a singularly vivid and disturbing memory of her face of loveliness, exquisitely tender and compassionate, bended so near to his, faded away into a dense blank of sleep ...

Somewhat to his surprise he found the watch on his wrist ticking away as callously as though its owner had not experienced a prolonged lapse of consciousness.  It told him that Eve would leave the chateau within another hour.

He got up hastily, grunting a bit—­though his headache was no longer so acute; or else he was growing accustomed to it—­and ringing for the valet-de-chambre ordered his petit dejeuner.  Before this was served he spent several thrilling minutes under an icy shower and emerged feeling more on terms with himself and the world.

The valet-de-chambre brought with his tray the announcement that Madame de Montalais presented her compliments and would be glad to see monsieur at his convenience in the grand salon.  So Duchemin made short work of his dressing, his cafe-au-lait and half a roll, and hurried down to the drawing-room.

Seated in an easy chair, in the tempered light of an awninged window which stood open on the terrasse, nothing in her pose—­she was waiting quietly, hands folded in her lap—­and nothing in her countenance, in the un-lined brow, the grave, serene eyes, lent any colour to his apprehensions.  And yet in his heart he had known that he would find her thus, and alone, no matter what had happened....

Her profound reverie disturbed by his approach, she rose quickly, advancing to meet Duchemin with both hands offered in sympathy.

“My dear friend!  You are suffering—?”

He met this with a smiling denial.  “Not now; at first, yes; but since my bath and coffee, I’m as right as a trivet.  And you, madame?”

“A little weary, monsieur, otherwise quite well.”

She resumed her chair, signing to Duchemin to take one nearby.  He drew it closer before sitting down.

“But madame is not dressed for her journey!”

“No, monsieur.  I have postponed it—­” a slight pause prefaced one more word—­“indefinitely.”

At this confirmation of the fears which had been haunting him, Duchemin nodded slightly.

“But the men sent here by your bankers—?”

“They have not yet arrived; we may expect them at any moment now.”

“I see,” said Duchemin thoughtfully; and then—­“May I suggest that we continue our conversation in English.  One never knows who may overhear...”

Her eyebrows lifted a little, but she adopted the suggestion without other demur.