ess than two miles
below. The chauffeur advised against bringing over the road from La
Roque to Montpellier; it is too rough and very steep."

"Oh!" said Duchemin, as one who catches a glimmering of light.

"Pardon, monsieur?"

"Madame's chauffeur is waiting with the automobile, no doubt?"

"But assuredly, monsieur."

He recollected himself. "We shall see what we shall see, then, at La
Roque. With an automobile at your disposal, Nant is little more distant
than Millau, certainly. Nevertheless, let us not delay."

"Monsieur is too good."

Momentarily a hand slender and firm and cool rested in his own. Then
its owner was setting into place beside Madame de Sevenie, and Duchemin
clambering up to his on the box.

The road proved quite as rough and declivitous as its reputation. One
surmised that the Spring rains had found it in a bad way and done
nothing to better its condition. Deep ruts and a liberal sprinkling of
small boulders collaborated to keep the horses stumbling, plunging and
pitching as they strained back against the singletrees. Duchemin was
grateful for the moonlight which alone enabled him to keep the road and
avoid the worst of the going--until he remembered that without the moon
there would have been no expedition that night to view the mock ruins
of Montpellier by its unearthly light, and consequently no adventure to
entangle him.

Upon this reflection he swore softly but most fervently into his
becoming beard. He was well fed up with adventures, thank you, and
could have done very well without this latest. And especially at a time
when he desired nothing so much as to be permitted to remain the
footloose wanderer in a strange land, a bird of passage without ties or
responsibilities.

He thought it devilish hard that one may never do a service to another
without incurring a burden of irksome obligations to the served; that
bonds of interest forged in moments of unpremeditated and generous
impulse are never readily to be broken.

Now because Chance had seen fit to put him in the way of saving a
hapless party of sightseers from robbery or worse, he found himself
hopelessly committed to take a continuing interest in them. It appeared
that their home was a chateau somewhere in the vicinity of Nant. Well,
after their shocking experience, and with the wounded man on their
hands--and especially if La Roque-Sainte-Marguerite told the story one
confidently expected--Duchemin could hardly avoid offering