But the exalted moment was short-lived. He could not fail to see how, instinctively, her glance travelled beyond him; how her lower lip was indrawn for the space of a heart-beat; and when their hands met, he, as instinctively, answered her thought. "I couldn't persuade Theo to come. He is still difficult to rouse or move. The news of your father did seem to stir him and I am hoping he will write." She let out her breath unsteadily. "Oh, if he only would! This interminable silence seems--so inhuman. In a way, I understand it; but the others, out there, are getting terribly unhappy over it; John and Frank more than all. _You_ don't think--do you--that there is really any fear----?" The look in her eyes recalled that terrible night of March when they two had watched over Theo in turn; and Paul knew that now--as then--she craved no cheap consolation, but the truth. "There have been bad moments," he admitted, "when one was afraid----But now I honestly believe that he _will_ fight again and live again with his old zest; and I want you to believe it too, with all your heart." "I will believe it--with all my heart," she answered very low and steadily. "Have you any plans--beyond Le Trayas?" "Nothing definite. I just keep my eye on him and act accordingly. In April, I think Bellagio would be a sound move. There, if anywhere, the call of the spring should prove irresistible. At least it's a prescription worth trying." She smiled; and, even in smiling, he noted the pathetic droop of her eyelids and the corners of her lips. "How wise you are for him, Paul! And you _will_ come home for a little before going back?" "I hope so, devoutly, if Bellagio proves a success." The crowd about them, surging chaotically to and fro, recalled them to prosaic considerations of luggage and a corner seat in the express, which Paul--unhurried yet singularly efficient--did not fail to secure. That done, Honor was confided to the care of an assiduous guard, and was supplied with fruit, chocolate, and more newspapers than she could possibly digest;--trifling services which the girl, in her great loneliness, rated at their true value. By that time the platform had emptied its contents into the high, dingy-looking carriages of the Paris-Lyons Express. A gong clanged. Honor put out an ungloved hand and had some ado not to wince before it was released. "Thank you--for everything," she murmured, sudden tears starting to her eyes. "I only wish Theo could have come too!" "I'll tell him that. It may do him good!" In spite of herself the blood flew to her cheeks. But before she could answer, the train jolted forward--and she was gone. Paul Wyndham stood a long while motionless, looking into empty space; then, with a sensible jar, he came very completely back to earth. * * * * *