"I have put some refreshment for you in the dining-room. It is more—more comfortable," said Victor, gently indicating the open door. "Will you not—when you have eaten—go to bed, mon cher, et peut-être dormir?"
Very wistfully the little man proffered his suggestion. His eyes followed
Piers' movements with the dumb worship of an animal.
"Oh yes, I'll go to bed," said Piers.
He turned towards the dining-room and entered. There was no elation in his step; rather he walked as a man who carries a heavy burden, and Victor marked the fact with eyes of keen anxiety.
He followed him in and poured out a glass of wine, setting it before him with a professional adroitness that did not conceal his solicitude.
Piers picked up the glass almost mechanically, and in doing so caught sight of some letters lying on the table.
"Oh, damn!" he said wearily. "How many more?"
There were bundles of them on the study writing-table. They poured in by every post.
Victor groaned commiseratingly. "I will take them away, yes?" he suggested. "You will read them in the morning—when you have slept."
"Yes, take 'em away!" said Piers. "Stay a minute! What's that top one?
I'll look at that."