"O I say, that's good. Who for? Den! I'm glad. He's just floored to-night."
"And this is medicine for Monsieur."
Roy flung open the salon door, announcing, "A letter A letter for you, Den. From England."
"From the post?" asked Denham, receiving from her hand a folded and sealed packet.
"Non, Monsieur. It arrives from M. de Bertrand. It was sent to him from England—under cover—and he waited till he should learn your address. Then he sent it to me by one travelling this way. I am glad," she softly added.
Denham bent nearer to the candle, trying with drawn brows and aching eyes to make out the handwriting. As he did so, a curious light crept into his face.
"You are very good, Mademoiselle. I am much indebted to you and to M. de Bertrand."
"Den, I do believe 'tis Polly's writing," cried Roy.
Denham glanced towards him.
"Yes. It is from Polly."