He bent his head, and laid his cheek against her cheek.
"Yes, Marie-Louise," he said softly. "And now I shall always be that Jean. Try very hard now to understand, little one! See, I am back again—for always—for always—and I will never go away from you any more. Don't you see, petite, that it is really Jean?"
"Yes," she said, in a low, dead voice, "it is Jean; but how can it be Jean—here—on this great ship—when Jean, I know, is in France—for I left Jean in France."
And then Jean laughed—because it would help to drive the sense of unreality from her mind, and because in his heart was only joyous laughter.
"It is very simple, that! I came with Monsieur Bliss and mademoiselle. And it is no more strange for me to be here than for you—than that I should have seen you a little while ago from the deck up there, Marie-Louise."
She seemed to rouse herself as though in dawning comprehension, raising herself a little in his arms.
"But the clothes—those clothes that you are wearing!" she faltered.
"Ah, Marie-Louise!" he cried out happily. "Do you not remember? Was it not you who told me that day that I was to keep them with me always? And see, I have kept them—and they have brought me back to you!"
He felt her tremble suddenly, and draw away.
"Let me go, Jean." And, as he released her, she stood for an instant clinging to the ship's side, her head turned away, before she spoke again. "You—you put them on to come down here to me?" she said dully, at last.