“Yes.  I am going.  Chris will go with me.”

“Ah!” The exclamation seemed involuntary.  Bertrand’s hand suddenly clenched hard upon the chair-arm.  “You will take her—­to Valpre?” he questioned.

“Probably not to the place itself,” Mordaunt made answer.  “I think she is not very anxious to go there.  It has associations that she would rather not renew.  We shall stay somewhere within easy reach of Valpre.  Perhaps you can tell me of a suitable resting-place not too far away.  You know that part of the world.”

“I know it well,” Bertrand said, and fell silent, as though pondering the matter.  At the end of a lengthy pause he spoke, abruptly, with just a tinge of nervousness.  “But why do you take her if she does not desire to go?”

Mordaunt raised his brows a little.

“You will pardon me,” Bertrand added quickly, “but it occurs to me that possibly she may prefer to remain at home.  And if that were the case you would not, I hope, consider my presence here as an obstacle, for”—­again he flashed a swift look across—­“it is not my intention to remain.”

“What are your intentions?” Mordaunt asked.

Bertrand shrugged his shoulders.  “I do not know yet.  Circumstances will decide.  But it is certain that I can trespass no more upon your kindness.  I have already accepted too much from you—­more than I can ever hope to repay.  Moreover”—­he paused—­“I do not wish to inconvenience you, and since I cannot accompany you to France—­” he paused again, and finally decided to say no more.

“Chris will go with me in any case,” said Mordaunt quietly.  “We have already arranged that.  You would cause no inconvenience to anyone by staying here.  In fact, it would be to my advantage.”

“To your advantage!” Bertrand echoed the words sharply, as if in some fashion they hurt him; and then, “But no,” he said with decision.  “It has never been to your advantage to employ me.  You have done it from the kindness of your heart, but it would have been better for you if you had entrusted your affairs to a man more capable.  And for that reason I am going to ask you to find another secretary as soon as possible, one who will perform his duties faithfully and merit his pay.”

“Is that the only reason?” Mordaunt asked unexpectedly.

There fell a sudden silence.  Bertrand, with bent head, appeared to be closely examining the leather on which his fingers still drummed an uneasy tattoo.  At last, “It is the only reason which I have to give you,” he said, his voice very low.

“It is not a very sound one,” Mordaunt remarked.

Again that quick shrug of the shoulders, and silence.  Several moments passed.  Then with an abrupt movement Bertrand rose, laid aside his cigarette, which had gone out, and seated himself at the writing-table.

A pile of letters lay upon it that had arrived by the evening post.  He began to turn them over, and presently took up a paper-cutter and deftly slit them open one by one.