He spoke pantingly, as though speech had become an effort. The strain was beginning to tell upon him. But his eyes pleaded for him with a dumb intensity hard to meet.
Max took his wrist once more into his steady grasp. "If you will do as I tell you," he said, "I will see that you don't. Is that a bargain?"
A faint smile shone in the dark eyes at the peremptoriness of his speech.
"But how you are despotic—you English!" protested the soft voice.
"Do you agree to that?" insisted Max.
"Mais oui. I submit myself—always—to you English. How can one—do other?"
"Then don't talk any more," said Max, with authority. "There's no time for drivel, so save your breath. You will want it when you get to Valpré."
"Ah, Valpré!" whispered Bertrand very softly as one utters a beloved name; and again more softly, "Valpré!"
CHAPTER V
THE STRANGER
A long wave broke with a splash and spread up the sand in a broad band of silver foam. The tide was at its lowest, and the black rocks of Valpré stood up stark and grotesque in the evening light. The Gothic archway of the Magic Cave yawned mysteriously in the face of the cliff, and over it, with shrill wailings, flew countless seagulls, flashing their wings in the sunset.