But Mordaunt would not speak till he was recumbent again.  Then very quietly he came to the point.

“The upshot of it is that I want a secretary to take things off my hands a bit, and since I would rather have a pal than a stranger in that capacity I am wondering if you will take on the job.”

“I!” Utter amazement sounded in de Montville’s voice.  He sat bolt upright for a space of seconds, staring into the impassive British face before him.  “But you—­you—­joke!” he said at last, his voice very low.

“No, I am quite in earnest.”  Gravely Mordaunt returned his look.  “I believe we might pull together very well.  Think it over, M. de Montville, and if you feel inclined to give it a trial—­”

“I wish that you would call me Bertrand,” de Montville broke in unexpectedly.  “It would be more convenient.  My name is known in England, and—­I do not like publicity.  As for your—­so generous—­suggestion, monsieur, I have no words.  I am your debtor in all things.  I know well that it is of my welfare that you think.  For myself I do not need to consider for a moment.  I would accept with joy and gratitude the most profound.  But, I ask you, are you altogether wise in thus reposing your confidence in a man of whom you know nothing, except that he was tried and condemned for an offence of which you had the goodness to believe him innocent?  I repeat, monsieur, are you altogether wise?”

“From my own point of view—­absolutely.”  Mordaunt spoke with a smile.  He held up his glass.  “You accept, then?”

“How could I do other than accept?” protested the Frenchman, with outspread hands.

“Then drink with me to the success of our alliance,” said Mordaunt.  “I believe it will work very well.”

He prepared to drink, but de Montville made a swift movement to arrest him.  “But one moment!  First, monsieur, you will give me your promise that if in any manner I fail to satisfy you, you will at once inform me of it?”

Mordaunt paused, regarding him steadily.  “Yes, I will promise you that,” he said.

“Ah!  Good!  Then I drink with you, monsieur, to the success of our compact.  It will be my pleasure and privilege to serve you to the utmost of my ability.”

He drank almost with reverence, and set down his glass with a hand that trembled.

Mordaunt got up.  “That is settled, then.  By the way, the question of salary does not seem to have occurred to you.  I don’t know if you have any ideas upon the subject.  Four hundred pounds per annum is what I thought of offering.”

“Four hundred pounds!” De Montville stared at him in amazement.  “Four hundred pounds!” he repeated, in rising agitation.  “But no, monsieur!  It is too much!  I will not—­I cannot—­take—­even from you—­a gift so great.  I—­I—­”

He waxed unintelligible in his distress, and would have risen, but Mordaunt’s hand upon his shoulder kept him down.  Mordaunt bent over him, very quiet and friendly, very sure of himself and of the man he addressed.