"Not since leaving Verdun."
"They may not have heard of your going to Valenciennes. Did you see a statement in the 'Moniteur,' not long since, as to correspondence with England? To the effect that more than a hundred thousand letters had been taken possession of by the French Government,—and bills to the value of millions of pounds sterling."
"No wonder we détenus are not flush of cash! No, I did not see it. That may have been when I was ill."
"You have been ill, then?"
"Yes,—nothing to signify. How did Mrs. Fairbank's letter reach you. Post?"
"Through M. de Marchand,—under cover to him. We have advised her repeatedly to try again that mode, since it seems the most hopeful. But doubtless our letters don't reach them."
Lucille, after exchanging a warm English handshake with Denham, had held back, waiting her opportunity to slip away. She glided now towards the door, unseen by Ivor, who was gazing thoughtfully on the ground. Roy ran to open it, and she said softly as she went out, "Do not be merciless to your friend. Give him some little repose. He is what you call 'dead-beat.'"
Roy nodded. "You always did seem to see exactly how Den was, didn't you?"
Lucille made her escape promptly, with heightening colour, and Ivor asked, "Where is the letter?"
"Roy has put it away," said Mrs. Baron. "It is partly to Roy and partly to my husband. But you need food and sleep before anything else."