“Ah!” said Théroigne, in the same quiet voice; “but I have made my bed according to monsieur’s proverb, and it is a double one--that is all. And is it not gallant when a woman falls to help her to her feet?” “It is not gallant to help her, the victim of one lie, to enact another.” “Surely; and monsieur is the soul of truth.” She adjusted her cloak and hat, stooped and took up her bundle. “I am distasteful to monsieur,” she said. “Very well.” For some reason Ned was moved to immediate anger. “Your hat is, anyhow,” he snapped. “I think it quite preposterously ugly.” But she only laughed and waved her hand. “You will think better of me in England,” she cried. He was moving away. He stopped abruptly and faced about. “You are still determined to go, then?” She nodded her head. Without another word he turned on his heel and strode off down the road. CHAPTER XVIII. Before--hurrying like a weaponless man through sinister thickets--Ned had come to within a mile of Liége, the memory of the rather grim comedy he had been forced to play a part in was tickling him under the ribs in provocative fashion. That his vanity--no unreasonable quantity--should have received, as it were, in a breath a kiss so resounding, a buffet so swingeing, set his very soul of risibility bubbling and dancing like champagne. “And ought I to be gratified or offended,” he thought, “that I am chosen the flame about which these moths circle? But it is all one to such insects whether it be wax or rushlight, so long as it burns. That’s where I missed fire, so to speak. The flutter of their poor little feverish wings put me out. I am a cold taper, I fancy. I have never yet felt the draught that would blow me into a roar. What breath is wasted upon me, in good truth!” Some detail of his path gave him pause. He sat down on a knoll, had out his book and pencil, and began to sketch. Now his blood ran temperately again. If he had been ever momentarily agitated in thought as to his ideals of conduct, the little disturbed silt of animalism was precipitated very soon, and the waters of his soul ran clear as heretofore. He laughed to himself as he sat. “I believe if I had stayed another day the Van Roon would have made overtures to me.” By-and-by he fell into a pondering fit. He rested his chin upon his clenched hand and, gazing into the distance, dreamed abstractedly.