De Launay twisted the unfortunate hat in his hands and made no reply for some minutes. Solange sat on the bed, one knee crossed over the other and her chin resting in her hand, supported on her elbow. Her head was also bent toward the floor. "Mademoiselle," said De Launay, at last, "I think you have guessed the trouble with me." His manner had reverted to that of his rank and class, and she looked up in instant reaction to it. "I am all that you say except what is good. There is no doubt of that. I have been a soldier for nineteen years; have made it the work of my life, in fact. I know nothing else--except, perhaps, a little of a passing, obsolete trade of this fading West you see around you. I had hoped to win--had won, I thought, place and distinction in that profession. You know what happened. Perhaps I did not deserve more. Perhaps it was necessary to reduce us all. Perhaps I was wrong in despairing. But I had won my way by effort, mademoiselle, that exhausted me. I was too tired to take up again the task of battering my way up through the remaining ranks. "There was nothing left to me. There is nothing for me to do. There is no one who can use me unless it be some petty state which needs mercenaries. I have served my purpose in the world. Why should I not waste the rest of my time?" Solange nodded. "Then what you need is an object?" she said, reflectively. "Work?" she asked. He shook his head. "I have no need of money. And why should I work, otherwise? I know nothing of trade, and there are others who need the rewards of labor more than I." "Philanthropy--service?" At this he grinned. "I am not a sentimentalist, but a soldier. As for service--I served France until she had no further use for me." "Marriage; a family?" He laughed, now. "I am married. As for the love that is said to mitigate that relation, am I the sort of man a woman would care for?" Solange straightened up, and then rose from the bunk. She came and stood before him. "If neither love, ambition nor money will stir you," she said. "Still, you may find an incentive to serve. There is chivalry." "I'm no troubadour." "Will you serve me?" she asked abruptly. He looked at her in surprise. "Am I not serving you?" "You are--after your own fashion--which I do not like. I wish your service--need it. But not this way." He nodded slowly. "I will serve you--in any way you wish," he said. Solange smiled under the veil, her mouth curving into beautiful lines. "That is better. I shall need you, monsieur. You cannot, it is clear, serve me effectively by being thrown into jail for months. I must find the mine and the man who killed my father before that." De Launay shook his head. "You expect to find the mine and the man, after nineteen years?"