"Monsieur," he said, choosing his words with care, "your great kindness is such as I can never hope to repay, but permit me to assure you that my gratitude will constrain me to regard myself your debtor till death. If it is ever in my power to serve you, I will render that service, cost what it may. You have called me by my name. It appears that you know me?"

He paused for an answer.

"Yes, I know you," Mordaunt said.

"And for that you extend to me the hand of friendship?" questioned the
Frenchman, his quick eyes still searching the Englishman's quiet face.

Mordaunt's eyes looked gravely back. "I also happen to believe in you," he said. "Otherwise I should probably have helped you because you needed it; but I most certainly should not have brought you here."

"Ah!" Sudden understanding flashed into de Montville's face; he leaned forward, stuttering with eagerness. "You—you—I know you now! I know you! You are the English journalist, the man who believed in me even against reason, against evidence—in spite of all! I remember you well—well! I remember your eyes. They sent me a message. They gave me courage. They told me that you knew—that you were my friend—the only friend, monsieur, that was not ashamed of me. And I thanked le bon Dieu that night—that terrible night—simply because I had looked into your eyes."

He broke off in quivering agitation. Trevor Mordaunt's hand was on his shoulder. "Easy—easy!" the quiet voice said. "You are exciting yourself, my dear fellow, and you mustn't. You must go to sleep. This matter will very well keep till morning."

De Montville's face was hidden in his shaking hands. "If I could thank you—if I could make you comprehend—" he murmured brokenly.

"I do comprehend. I comprehend perfectly." Mordaunt's voice was soothing now, almost motherly. He stroked the bent shoulders with a consoling touch. "Come, man! You are used up; you are ill. Lie down and rest."

He coaxed his forlorn guest down upon the pillows again and drew the bedclothes over him. Then for a space he sat beside him, divining that he would recover his self-command more quickly with him there than left to his own devices.