"And you may always reckon—always, I repeat—on our entire discretion!"
Floriot put out a hand which was eagerly gripped.
"Gentlemen, I thank you!" he said in a grave, unsteady voice. And with many a scrape and hand-shake and assurance of their perfect discretion the firm of Perissard and Merivel bowed itself out.
For a moment, after they had gone, Floriot stood with head raised and fists clenched.
"Oh, Jacqueline! Jacqueline!" he murmured aloud, as if he felt that the cry from his heart must reach her ears. "Forgive—forgive me!"
Then he darted across the garden and into the house like a boy. Up the steps he raced, three at a time, and burst into Noel's room with tears streaming down his face, speechless with emotion. Noel started up from the suit-case he was unpacking and stared at his friend in alarm.
"For God's sake, Louis!" he cried. "What's the matter?"
"Jacqueline—Jacqueline is alive!"
In a bound Noel was across the room, with a grip on his friend's shoulder.
"What do you mean?" he cried, shaking him fiercely. "Alive! Who told you?"