fe itself in its distilled
quintessence, its pure elixir. His look of gratitude had almost the
spirit and the vigour of himself renewed.

"My thanks, mademoiselle..."

"Your thanks!"--she laughed with indulgent scorn--"your thanks to me!"

He offered to rise, but was restrained by kindly hands.

"No: rest there a little longer, give yourself a little time before you
try to get up."

"But I shall tire you..."

"No. And if you did, what of that? It seems to me, my friend, I owe to
you my life."

"To me it seems you do," he agreed. "But such a debt is always the
first to be forgotten, is it not?"

"You reproach me?"

"No, mademoiselle; not you, but the hearts of men... We are all very
much alike, I think."

"No," the woman insisted: "you do reproach me. In your heart you have
said: 'She has forgotten that, but for me, she would have been dead
long years ago. This service, too, she will presently forget.' But you
are wrong, my friend. It is true, the years between had made that other
time a little vague with old remoteness in my memory; but to-night has
brought it all back and--a renewed memory never fades."

"So one is told. But trust self-interest at need to black it out."

"You have no faith in me!" she said bitterly.

Lanyard gave her a weary smile. "Why should I not? And as for that: Why
should I have faith in you, Liane? Our ways run leagues apart."

"They can be one."

She met his perplexed stare with an emphatic nod, with eyes that he
could have sworn were abrim with tenderness. He shook his head as if to
shake off a ridiculous plaguing notion, and grinned broadly. "That was
a drink!" he declared. "I assure you, it was too much for my elderly
head. Let me up."

The cruel agony stabbed his side again and again as he--not
unaided--got upon his feet; and though he managed to gulp down his
groans, no grinding of his teeth could mitigate his recurrent pallor or
the pained contractions of his eyes. Furthermore, he wavered when he
tried to walk, and was glad to subside into a chair to which the woman
guided him. Then she fetched him another brandy and soda, put a lighted
cigarette between his lips, picked up a chair for herself, and sat
down, so close to him that their elbows almost touched.

"It is better, that pain, monsieur?"

He replied with an uncertain nod, pressing a careful hand to his side.
"... wound that animal gave me a month ago."

"Which animal?"

"Monsieur of the garotte, Liane; re