know me at all!" he said.

Mordaunt passed over the remark as if he had not heard it. "What have you
come for?" he asked.

"To see you, monsieur." The reply was as direct as the question. A
momentary challenge shone in Bertrand's eyes as he made it.

But Mordaunt remained coldly unimpressed. "It was not a very wise move on
your part," he remarked. "You will be arrested if you are discovered. The
authorities are not ready for you yet. They are quite capable of
suppressing you for good and all if it suits their purpose."

"I know it. But that is of no importance after to-night." Bertrand stood
and faced him squarely. "After to-night," he said, "they may do what they
will. I shall have accomplished that which I came to do."

"And that?" said Mordaunt. He looked back into the eager eyes with the
aloofness of a stranger. His manner was too impersonal to express either
enmity or contempt.

The keenness began to die out of Bertrand's face, and a certain dignity
took its place. "That," he made answer, "is to tell you the truth in such
a fashion that, although you think that I am a thief, you will believe
it."

"I do not think that you are in a position to tell me anything that I do
not know already," Mordaunt answered quietly. "By the way, it may
interest you to hear that the affair of the cheque has been cleared up. I
wronged you there, but I do not think that I was responsible for the
wrong."

"I was responsible," Bertrand said, his voice very low. "I deceived you.
And for that you will not pardon me, no?"

But the level grey eyes looked through and beyond him. "That," Mordaunt
said, "is a matter of small importance now. Deceptions of that kind are
never excusable in my opinion; but as I do not expect you to share my
point of view, it seems scarcely worth while to discuss it."

Bertrand bowed stiffly. "It is not of that that I desire to speak.
Of myself you will think--what you will. I have merited--and I will
endure--your displeasure. But of _la petite_"--he paused--"of
Christine"--he faltered a little, and finally amended--"of _madame votre
femme_, you will think only that which is good. For that is her nature,
that. And for me," his voice throbbed with sudden passion, "I would
rather bear any insult than that you should think otherwise of her. For
she is pure and innocent as a child. Do you not see that I would sooner
die than harm her? And it has always, always been so. You believe me,
no?"

Mordaunt's face