"But what?" "Mlle. Crystal would want to know something more than that. She will ask me questions . . . she . . . she will insist . . . I had promised her to get the money back myself . . . she will expect an explanation . . . she . . ." He continued to murmur these short, jerky sentences almost inaudibly, avoiding the while to meet the enquiring and puzzled gaze of the Englishman. When he paused--still murmuring, but quite inaudibly now--Clyffurde made no comment, and once more there fell a silence over the narrow room. The candles flickered feebly, and Bobby picked up the metal snuffers from the table and with a steady and deliberate hand set to work to trim the wicks. So absorbed did he seem in this occupation that he took no notice of St. Genis, who with arms crossed in front of him, was pacing up and down the narrow room, a heavy frown between his deep-set eyes. III Somewhere in the house down below, an old-fashioned clock had just struck two. Clyffurde looked up from his absorbing task. "It is late," he remarked casually; "shall we say good-night, M. de St. Genis?" The sound of the Englishman's voice seemed to startle Maurice out of his reverie. He pulled himself together, walked firmly up to the table and resting his hand upon it, he faced the other man with a sudden gaze made up partly of suddenly conceived resolve and partly of lingering shamefacedness. "Mr. Clyffurde," he began abruptly. "Yes?" "Have you any cause to hate me?" "Why no," replied Clyffurde with his habitual good-humoured smile. "Why should I have?" "Have you any cause to hate Mlle. Crystal de Cambray?" "Certainly not." "You have no desire," insisted Maurice, "to be revenged on her for the slight which she put upon you the other night?" His voice had grown more steady and his look more determined as he put these rapid questions to Clyffurde, whose expressive face showed no sign of any feeling in response save that of complete and indifferent puzzlement. "I have no desire with regard to Mlle. de Cambray," replied Bobby quietly, "save that of serving her, if it be in my power." "You can serve her, Sir," retorted Maurice firmly, "and that right nobly. You can render the whole of her future life happy beyond what she herself has ever dared to hope." "How?" Maurice paused: once more, with a gesture habitual to him, he crossed his arms over his chest and resumed his restless march up and down the narrow room. Then again he stood still, and again faced the Englishman, his dark enquiring eyes seeming to probe the latter's deepest thoughts. "Did you know, Mr. Clyffurde," he asked slowly, "that Mlle. Crystal de Cambray honours me with her love?" "Yes. I knew that," replied the other quietly.