The look in her eyes recalled that terrible night of March when they two had watched over Theo in turn; and Paul knew that now—as then—she craved no cheap consolation, but the truth.
"There have been bad moments," he admitted, "when one was afraid——But now I honestly believe that he will fight again and live again with his old zest; and I want you to believe it too, with all your heart."
"I will believe it—with all my heart," she answered very low and steadily. "Have you any plans—beyond Le Trayas?"
"Nothing definite. I just keep my eye on him and act accordingly. In April, I think Bellagio would be a sound move. There, if anywhere, the call of the spring should prove irresistible. At least it's a prescription worth trying."
She smiled; and, even in smiling, he noted the pathetic droop of her eyelids and the corners of her lips.
"How wise you are for him, Paul! And you will come home for a little before going back?"
"I hope so, devoutly, if Bellagio proves a success."
The crowd about them, surging chaotically to and fro, recalled them to prosaic considerations of luggage and a corner seat in the express, which Paul—unhurried yet singularly efficient—did not fail to secure. That done, Honor was confided to the care of an assiduous guard, and was supplied with fruit, chocolate, and more newspapers than she could possibly digest;—trifling services which the girl, in her great loneliness, rated at their true value.
By that time the platform had emptied its contents into the high, dingy-looking carriages of the Paris-Lyons Express. A gong clanged. Honor put out an ungloved hand and had some ado not to wince before it was released.