wittingly she chilled him, and he felt he had
no right to complain, for he had done her the greatest wrong which can
be done a woman. Whatever chanced, Guida was still his wife; and there
was in him yet the strain of Calvinistic morality of the island race
that bred him. He had shrunk from coming here, but it had been far worse
than he had looked for.

One day, in a nervous, bitter moment, after an impatient hour with the
Comtesse, he had said: "Can you--can you not speak? Can you not tell me
what you think?" She had answered quietly:

"It would do no good. You would not understand. I know you in some ways
better than you know yourself. I cannot tell what it is, but there is
something wrong in your nature, something that poisons your life. And
not myself only has felt that. I never told you--but you remember the
day the old Duke died, the day we were married? You had gone from the
room a moment. The Duke beckoned me to him, and whispered 'Don't be
afraid--don't be afraid--' and then he died. That meant that he was
afraid, that death had cleared his sight as to you in some way. He was
afraid--of what? And I have been afraid--of what? I do not know. Things
have not gone well somehow. You are strong, you are brave, and I come of
a family that have been strong and brave. We ought to be near: yet,
yet we are lonely and far apart, and we shall never be nearer or less
lonely. That I know."

To this he had made no reply and this anger vanished. Something in her
words had ruled him to her own calmness, and at that moment he had the
first flash of understanding of her nature and its true relation to his
own.

Passing through the Rue d'Egypte this day he met Dormy Jamais. Forgetful
of everything save that this quaint foolish figure had interested him
when a boy, he called him by name; but Dormy Jamais swerved away, eyeing
him askance.

At that instant he saw Jean Touzel standing in the doorway of his house.
A wave of remorseful feeling rushed over him. He could wait no longer:
he would ask Jean Touzel and his wife about Guida. He instantly
bethought him of an excuse for the visit. His squadron needed another
pilot; he would approach Jean in the matter.

Bidding his flag-lieutenant go on to Elizabeth Castle whither they were
bound, and await him there, he crossed over to Jean. By the time he
reached the doorway, however, Jean had retreated to the veille by the
chimney behind Maitresse Aimable, who sat in a great stave-chair