“So you went cheerfully on with your profession?” I remarked.

“I returned to Marseilles, and there I lost my horse Sultan.  Then my father died and left me pretty well off, and I hadn’t the heart to train another animal.  So here I am.  Ah!”

With one of her lithe movements she rose to her feet, and, flinging out her arms in a wide gesture, began to walk about the room, stopping here and there to turn on the light and draw the flaring chintz curtains.  I rose, too, so as to aid her.  Suddenly as we met, by the window, she laid both her hands on my shoulders and looked into my face earnestly and imploringly, and her lips quivered.  I wondered apprehensively what she was going to do next.

“For God’s sake, be my friend and help me!”

The cry, in her rich, low notes, seemed to come from the depths of the woman’s nature.  It caused some absurd and unnecessary chord within me to vibrate.

For the first time I realised that her strong, handsome face could look nobly and pathetically beautiful.  Her eyes swam in an adorable moisture and grew very human and appealing.  In a second all my self-denying ordinances were forgotten.  The witch had me in her power again.

“My dear Madame Brandt,” said I, “how can I do it?”

“Don’t take Dale from me.  I’ve lived alone, alone, alone all these years, and I couldn’t bear it.”

“Do you care for him so very much?”

She withdrew her hands and moved slightly.  “Who else in the wide world have I to care for?”

This was very pathetic, but I had the sense to remark that compromising the boy’s future was not the best way of showing her devotion.

“Oh, how could I do that?” she asked.  “I can’t marry him.  And if I do what I’ve never done before for any man—­become his mistress—­who need know?  I could stay in the background.”

“You seem to forget, dear lady,” said I, “that Captain Vauvenarde is probably alive.”

“But I tell you I’ve lost sight of him altogether.”

“Are you quite so sure,” I asked, regaining my sanity by degrees, “that Captain Vauvenarde has lost sight of you?”

She turned quickly.  “What do you mean?”

“You have given him no chance as yet of recovering his freedom.”

She passed her hand over her face, and sat down on the sofa.  “Do you mean—­divorce?”

“It’s an ugly word, dear Madame Brandt,” said I, as gently as I could, “but you and I are strong people and needn’t fear uttering it.  Don’t you think such a scandal would ruin Dale at the very beginning of his career?”

There was a short silence.  I was glad to see she was feminine enough to twist and tear her handkerchief.

“What am I to do?” she asked at last.  “I can’t live this awful lonely life much longer.  Sometimes I get the creeps.”

I might have given her the sound advice to find healthy occupation in training crocodiles to sit up and beg; but an idea which advanced thinkers might classify as more suburban was beginning to take shape in my mind.