His eyes sought Mordaunt's apologetically as he gave it back. The apathy had gone out of them. They looked out of his pinched face with brightening intelligence. His lips were no longer blue.
"Ah!" he said, with a deep breath. "But how it was good, monsieur!"
He glanced downwards, discovered himself to be sitting in a chintz-covered chair, and blundered hastily to his feet.
"Tenez!" he exclaimed almost incoherently. "But how I forget! See, I have—I have—"
He groped out before him suddenly, words failing him, and only Mordaunt's promptitude spared him a headlong fall.
"Bit light-headed, sir?" suggested the servant, glancing round with an inscrutable countenance.
"No, he'll be all right. Go and turn on the hot water," said Mordaunt.
To the Frenchman as the man departed he spoke as to an equal. "Monsieur de Montville, I am offering you the hospitality of a friend, and I hope you will accept it. In the morning if you are well enough we will talk things over. But to-night you are not fit for anything beyond a hot bath and bed."
The Frenchman nodded. Certainly his senses were returning to him. His eyes were growing brighter every instant. "It is true," he said. "I was ill. But your—so great—kindness has revived me. I will not, then, trespass upon you longer, except to render to you a thousand thanks. I am well now. I will go."
"No," Mordaunt said gently. "You will stay here till morning. You are not well. You are feverish. And the sooner you get to bed the better. Come! We are not strangers. Need we behave as if we were?"