"I should like to say something to you, monsieur," he said. "It is rather difficult to say, because I do not wish it to seem formal, when the feeling that prompts it is not formal."
Maurice was again looking over the wall, watching with intensity the black speck that was slowly approaching on the little path.
"What is it, monsieur?" he asked, quickly.
"I owe you a debt—indeed I do. You must not deny it. Through your magnanimous action in permitting your wife to leave you, you, perhaps indirectly, saved my life. For, without her aid, I do not think I could have recovered. Of her nobility and devotion I will not, because I cannot adequately, speak. But I wish to say to you that if ever I can do you a service of any kind I will do it."
As he finished Maurice, who was looking at him now, saw a veil over his big eyes. Could it—could it possibly be a veil of tears!
"Thank you," he answered.
He tried to speak warmly, cordially. But his heart said to him: "You can do nothing for me now. It is all too late!"
Yet the words and the emotion of Artois were some slight relief to him. He was able to feel that in this man he had no secret enemy, but, if need be, a friend.
"You have a nice fellow as servant," Artois said, to change the conversation.
"Gaspare—yes. He's loyal. I intend to ask Hermione to let me take him to England with us."