Marjolaine had the greatest difficulty in the world to keep from laughing. "Nothing, Maman!" she said, volubly. "You are not to be anxious about me. I am quite, quite happy." The race was continuing. Although Jack saw the lamplighter’s manoeuvre, he could not move quickly, for fear of making a noise and being heard by Madame. "I saw Lord Otford yesterday," Madame continued. Marjolaine’s entire attention was absorbed by the rivals. "You saw—?" she repeated, vaguely. But at that moment the lamplighter was perceptibly gaining on Jack. "Oh! Oh!" she cried, with a stifled laugh. Madame was shocked. "Marjolaine, you are laughing!" "No, no!" cried Marjolaine, "it was—it was surprise." "He was very stern, very indignant," her mother proceeded; "but I did not flinch. I told him you—" The lamplighter snatched the pigeon-pie and fled. Jack, speechless with rage and disappointment, was on the point of rushing after him, but, to his horror, he caught sight of his father coming out of the Admiral’s house, and only just had time to bolt back into the Antiquary’s. Marjolaine gave up. In an uncontrollable fit of hysterical laughter she dashed into her own house, almost knocking Lord Otford over on her way, and leaving her poor mother utterly dumbfounded on the seat. Had grief affected the poor child’s brain? Madame rose hurriedly to follow her daughter—and there stood Lord Otford. *CHAPTER XV* *SHOWING HOW THE ROUNDABOUT ROAD LEADS BACK TO THE STARTING POINT* [Illustration: Chapter XV headpiece] "Lord Otford!" cried Madame. "Forgive me," he said, very gently. "Pray allow me to pass!" for he was standing right in her road. "I am very anxious about my child." "If I am any judge," said he, with a smile, "that young lady is in the best of health and spirits." Madame was indignant. "You are mistaken. She is—" but this would never do; she was just going to let out that Marjolaine was heart-broken because of Jack Sayle’s desertion: the very last thing Lord Otford must know. "Yes, of course," she corrected herself. "She is well and happy, but—" "Then," said Lord Otford, "will you favour me with a few moments?" She could not help noticing with some satisfaction how different his manner was from when they had last met. Then he had tried to bluster and bully; now he was all deference. But she would not yield a jot. She drew herself up proudly. "I can see no use in renewing our painful—" He interrupted her deprecatingly. "I am in a grave perplexity. My son has disappeared—" Madame took him up quickly. "And you suspect us of harbouring him!" she cried, with genuine anger. "No, no!" he protested. "On my honour, no!" "Then—?" "Ah, do be patient," he continued, almost humbly. "I am here on an errand of conciliation." "Conciliation!" echoed Madame, with a touch of scorn. "Jack," Lord Otford began explaining, "is very dear to me."