Monsieur Rouge, thin, sad-faced, and more colourless than ever, glided into the room like an unquiet spectre. He saluted his host with grave dignity. Aldean nodded, and when the door was closed pointed to a chair.
"I am glad to see you," he said in French. "Sit down, please. Would you like to eat, or drink, or smoke?"
"If Monsieur permits, no; I come to talk."
"About Mr. Mallow?"
"But certainly, Monsieur, about myself also. I discharge myself of a mission in thus presenting myself."
Lord Aldean, who had not once taken his eyes off the white, haggard face, nodded again, and sat down. With easy grace his visitor slipped into a chair, and placed his peaked cap on the floor beside him. Then he looked fixedly at the young Englishman, and waited to be questioned. Evidently M. Rouge was a discreet personage, and not inclined to venture in further than he could withdraw. Nothing of the rash revolutionist about him.
"Did Vraik bring you here?" asked Aldean, settling himself.
"Assuredly, yes. He gave himself the trouble to lead me to the door. But," Monsieur Rouge waved his hand, "he is gone. I dismissed him. It is not for him to hear what I would say."
"What do you wish to say?"
"Monsieur, I would make you a confession; I would deliver myself of a story. But that later. Let us concern ourselves with Mr. Mallow."