"I've been pursuing you all day. You're almost as difficult of access here in Paris as you were at La Lierre. How's the head?"
Ste. Marie put up an experimental hand. He had forgotten his injury.
"Oh, that's all right," said he. "At least I think so. Anderson fixed me up this afternoon. But I haven't time to talk to you. I'm in a hurry. To-morrow we'll have a long chin. Oh, how about Stewart?" He lowered his voice, and Hartley answered him in the same tone.
"The man is in a delirium. Heaven knows how it'll end. He may die, and he may pull through. I hope he pulls through—except for the sake of the family—because then we can make him pay for what he's done. I don't want him to go scot free by dying."
"Nor I!" said Ste. Marie fiercely. "Nor I! I want him to pay too—long and slowly and hard, and, if he lives, I shall see that he does it, family or no family. Now I must be off." Ste. Marie's face was shining and uplifted. The other man looked at it with a little envious sigh.
"I see everything is all right," said he. "And I congratulate you. You deserve it if ever any one did."
Ste. Marie stared for an instant uncomprehending. Then he saw.
"Yes," he said gently. "Everything is all right." It was plain that the Englishman did not know of Miss Benham's decision. He was incapable of deceit. Ste. Marie threw an arm over his friend's shoulder, and went with him a little way towards the drawing-room.
"Go in there," he said. "You'll find some one glad to see you, I think. And remember that I said everything is all right." He came back after he had turned away, and met Hartley's puzzled frown with a smile.
"If you've that motor here, may I use it?" he asked. "I want to go somewhere in a hurry."