He stood, holding the door-handle, his red brows drawn, a glint of battle in the green eyes beneath them.  And so, during a brief silence, they measured each other.

Then quite courteously the Frenchman spoke.  “Monsieur, my duty brings me here.  Will you have the goodness to open that door?”

“It’s a good thing you can speak English,” Max remarked, with his one-sided smile.  “What do you want to go in there for?  The room is mine.”

“And you are entertaining a friend there, monsieur.”  The Frenchman still spoke suavely; he even smiled an answering smile.

“That is so,” Max said.  “Do you know his name?”

“It is Bertrand de Montville.”  There was no hesitation in the reply.  He looked as if he expected the Englishman to move aside, as he made it.  But Max stood his ground.

“And what is your business with him?” he asked.

The officer’s brows went up.  “Monsieur?”

“You have come to arrest him?” Max questioned.

The Frenchman hesitated for a moment, then:  “I must do my duty,” he said.

The green eyes contemplated him thoughtfully for a space.  Then, “I suppose you know he is dying?” Max said slowly.

“Dying, monsieur!” The tone was sharp, the speaker plainly incredulous.

Max explained without emotion.  “He is suffering from an incurable disease of the heart, caused by hardship and starvation.  If you go in and agitate him now, I won’t give that for his chances of lasting through the night.”

He snapped his fingers without taking his eyes from the other’s face.

“Is it true?” the Frenchman said.

“It is absolutely true.”  Max spoke quietly, but there was force behind his words.  “You can do what you like to safeguard him, though he is quite incapable of getting away.  You can surround the house and post sentries at the door.  But unless you want to kill him outright, you won’t take him away from here.  You can send one of your own doctors to certify what I say.  You don’t want to kill him, I presume?”

The Frenchman was listening attentively.  It was evident that Max Wyndham was making an impression.

“My orders are to arrest him and to take him to the fortress,” he said.

“Dead or alive?” asked Max.

“But certainly not dead, monsieur.  All France will be calling for him to-morrow.”

“That’s the funny part of it,” said Max.  “France should have thought of that before.  Well, sir, if you want him to live, all you can do is to wait.  I will keep him going through the night, and you can send a doctor round in the morning.”

“You are a doctor?” asked the Frenchman keenly.

“No.  I am a medical student.”

“And you are friends, hein?”

“Yes, we are friends.  It was I who brought him here.”

“But what a pity, monsieur!” There was a touch of kindly feeling in the words.