t one moment! First, monsieur, you will give me your promise that
if in any manner I fail to satisfy you, you will at once inform me of
it?"

Mordaunt paused, regarding him steadily. "Yes, I will promise you that,"
he said.

"Ah! Good! Then I drink with you, monsieur, to the success of our
compact. It will be my pleasure and privilege to serve you to the utmost
of my ability."

He drank almost with reverence, and set down his glass with a hand that
trembled.

Mordaunt got up. "That is settled, then. By the way, the question of
salary does not seem to have occurred to you. I don't know if you have
any ideas upon the subject. Four hundred pounds per annum is what I
thought of offering."

"Four hundred pounds!" De Montville stared at him in amazement. "Four
hundred pounds!" he repeated, in rising agitation. "But no, monsieur! It
is too much! I will not--I cannot--take--even from you--a gift so great.
I--I--"

He waxed unintelligible in his distress, and would have risen, but
Mordaunt's hand upon his shoulder kept him down. Mordaunt bent over him,
very quiet and friendly, very sure of himself and of the man he
addressed.

"That's all right, _mon ami_. It is not too much. It's a perfectly
fair bargain, and--to please me if you like--I want you to accept it.
You will find there is plenty to do, possibly more than you anticipate.
So--suppose we consider it settled, eh?"

De Montville was silent.

"We'll call it done," Mordaunt said. "Have a cigarette!"

He held his case in front of the Frenchman, and after a moment de
Montville took one. But he only balanced it in his fingers, still saying
nothing.

"A light?" suggested Mordaunt.

He made a jerky movement, and glanced up for an instant. "Mr. Mordaunt,"
he said, speaking with evident difficulty, "what is--a pal?"

"A pal," Mordaunt said, smiling slightly, "is a special kind of friend,
Bertrand--the best kind, the sort you open your heart to in trouble, the
sort that is always ready to stand by."

"Such a friend as you have been to me?" questioned de Montville slowly.

"Well, if you like to say so," Mordaunt said. "I almost think we might
call ourselves pals by this time. What say you?"

"I, monsieur?" He reached up and grasped the hand that rested on his
shoulder. "For myself I ask no better," he said, in a voice that quivered
beyond control, "than to be to you what you have been to me. And I will
sooner die by my own hand than give you cause to regret you