"Do you want anything?" He uttered the question at once, quite clearly, without emotion.
"Monsieur," Bertrand said again, and there was entreaty in his voice, "out of your great goodness of heart you have brought la petite to say adieu to me. Will you not—extend that goodness—a little farther? Will you not—now that you understand—now that you understand"—he repeated the phrase insistently—"remove the estrangement of which I have been—the so unhappy cause?"
"Bertie, no—no!" There was sharp pain in Chris's voice. She raised herself quickly. "You don't understand, dear, and I—can't explain. But you are not to ask that of him. I can't bear it."
There was a quiver of passion in the last words. It was as though they were uttered in spite of her.
Mordaunt stood motionless, in utter silence. His face was in shadow.
Bertrand turned to the kneeling girl. "Will you, then, plead for yourself, chérie?" he said. "He will not refuse you. He knows all."
"No, no; he doesn't," said Chris.
"But you will tell him," urged Bertrand gently. "See, I cannot leave you—my two good friends—thus. Since I have caused so much trouble between you, I must do my possible to redress the evil. Chérie, promise me—that you will go back to him. Not otherwise shall I die happy."
"I can't!" whispered Chris. "I can't!"
"But why not?" he said. "You love him, yes?"