The Wounded Name

by D. K. Broster

Laurent opened his lips to say something, and thought better of it. But it seemed horrible that L'Oiseleur should make this statement without a shadow of his old bitterness, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for his presence to be objected to.

"I did not, however, propose to condemn you to Mme Leblanc's cooking if you did come," went on his friend. "De Fresne tells me that there is still a room or two at the Hôtel de l'Ecusson."

Laurent shrugged his shoulders. "I shall stay here—if there is a corner anywhere. You won't say, 'If you do, I shall not sleep under this roof,' will you?"

Aymar gave him a strange, sweet little smile, and put his hand for a moment over his. "I know better now than to argue with you, mon ami; but I would like to make one appeal to you, on the score of your own reputation. It will not do you any good, and it might do you untold harm, to be seen with me, to lodge with me. You know——"

"Is that why M. de Fresne has so carefully installed himself at the Hôtel de l'Ecusson?" broke in Laurent hotly. "And your friend Saint-Etienne, where is he? Has he been equally prudent?"

Aymar looked at him rather oddly. "Saint-Etienne is . . . much further away," he said, with what seemed an effort. "And I implore you, Laurent, not to harbour a grudge against the excellent de Fresne. He does so hate this whole affair; it is against his better judgment, he puts himself in rather an unpleasant position, and yet he is giving evidence at my request."

"It is the least he can do," retorted the implacable Laurent. "But what about Saint-Etienne, your most important witness, it seems to me—unless you have secured that M. du Parc. Why do you say he is far away? I hope you have both of them?"

Aymar looked down at the floor. "Laurent, I ought not to have allowed you to come here—I ought not, indeed! I did try in my letter not to let you see how much I wanted you, but it was too strong for me. Yet at least I did not know the worst when I wrote. . . . I have neither of those two as witnesses; Saint-Etienne I can never have."

"Good God! why not? Aymar, your whole case——"

"Saint-Etienne is dead," answered Aymar gravely. And he told his stunned hearer how, when he made up his mind to court enquiry, he had written to Saint-Etienne to ask him if he would give evidence on his behalf, and where M. du Parc could be found. No answer came. Meanwhile, Sol de Grisolles made arrangements and fixed the date. Then came a letter from Saint-Etienne's relatives telling Aymar of his death from wounds received in a skirmish in July. Of M. du Parc they knew nothing whatever; and the name was so little uncommon that to trace him—Aymar had already tried—was hopeless.