Ashe made a fierce effort to still the thumping in his breast and decide what he should do.  For the guests there was only one door of entrance or exit, and to reach it he must pass close beside the new-comer.

He laid down his newspaper.  She heard the rustling, and involuntarily looked round.

There was a slight sound—­an exclamation.  She rose.  He heard and saw her coming, and sat tranced and motionless, his eyes bent upon her.  She came tottering, clinging to the chairs, her hand on her side, till she reached the corner where he was.

“William!” she said, with a little, glad sob, under her breath—­“William!”

He himself could not speak.  He stood there gazing at her, his lips moving without sound.  It seemed to him that she turned her head a moment, as though to look for some one beside him—­with an exquisite tremor of the mouth.

“Isn’t it strange?” she said, in the same guarded voice.  “I had a dream once—­a valley—­and mountains—­and an inn.  You sat here—­just like this—­and—­”

She put up her hands to her eyes a moment, shivered, and withdrew them.  From her expression she seemed to be waiting for him to speak.  He moved and stood beside her.

“Where can we talk?” he said, with difficulty.  She shook her head vaguely, looking round her with that slight frown, complaining and yet sweet, which was like a touch of fire on memory.

The waitress came back into the room.

“It is odd to have met you here!” said Kitty, in a laughing voice.  “Let us go into the salon de lecture.  The maids want to clear away.  Please bring your newspaper.”

Fraeulein Anna looked at them with a momentary curiosity, and went on with her work.  They passed into the passage-way outside, which was full of smokers overflowing from the crowded room beyond, where the humbler frequenters of the inn ate and drank.

Kitty glanced round her in bewilderment.  “The salon de lecture will be full, too.  Where shall we go?” she said, looking up.

Ashe’s hand clinched as it hung beside him.  The old gesture—­and the drawn, emaciated face—­they pierced the heart.

“I told my servant to arrange me a sitting-room up-stairs,” he said, hurriedly, in her ear.  “Will you go up first?—­number ten.”

She nodded, and began slowly to mount the stairs, coughing as she went.  The man whom Ashe had taken for a Genevese professor looked after her, glanced at his neighbor, and shrugged his shoulders.  “Phthisique,” he said, with a note of pity.  The other nodded.  “Et d’un type tres avance!”

They moved towards the door and stood looking into the night, which was dark with intermittent rain.  Ashe studied a map of the commune which hung on the wall beside him, till at a moment when the passage had become comparatively clear he turned and went up-stairs.

The door of his improvised salon was ajar.  Beyond it his valet was coming out of his bedroom with wet clothes over his arm.  Ashe hesitated.  But the man had been with him through the greater part of his married life, and was a good heart.  He beckoned him back into the room he was leaving, and the two stepped inside.