Outside in the sunshine, Westerham watched Kathleen make across the square by the way which she had come. Her companion turned abruptly to the right and walked rapidly away. Westerham followed Kathleen back till she came to the Hôtel de la République, when she disappeared through the doorway. Once again Westerham took his seat at a table underneath the awning of the _café_ that he might watch developments. And if on the night before he had been completely unable to understand the reasons which had taken Lady Kathleen to Rouen, he was infinitely more out of his mental depths now. This sombrely-attired, black-bearded man could not possibly be any tool of Melun's. Melun did not employ gentlemen, and that this man was one Westerham did not doubt. For two hours he sat and watched the doorway and the street; but no one either came or went whom Westerham could even distantly connect with Lady Kathleen. All the while he sat there he suffered great agony of mind. It was torture to him to think that not a score of yards away Kathleen sat alone and in great distress, and that he was powerless to comfort her. Yet was he powerless? He could at least make one more attempt to help her. With this resolve he crossed the road and asked to see the English lady staying there. He sent up no name, deeming it wiser not to do so. He recognised that Kathleen was of that type of woman who, if danger threatens, must know the worst at once. She would be curious to discover the identity of the stranger who sought an audience with her, and would ask him to go up. In this opinion he was justified, for the fat landlady came down and said that the English mademoiselle would be pleased to see him. He went quietly up the stairs, and without so much as knocking at the door walked into the little sitting-room which Kathleen had engaged. As she beheld him she started back with a quick cry of terror. “Even here!” she exclaimed. “Must you follow me even here?” Westerham bowed his head. Now that he found himself in her presence explanation became difficult. For a few minutes he could say nothing but stood watching Kathleen, who had sunk down into a chair as if utterly worn out in body and in spirit. Westerham gathered himself together and came to the conclusion that the time had now come when he at any rate should no longer continue to make mysteries. “Lady Kathleen,” he said, “I owe you a deep apology for following you here. I learnt of your visit to Rouen quite by accident from my friend, Lord Dunton.” “Your friend, Lord Dunton!” exclaimed Kathleen with wide-open eyes. “Your friend, Lord Dunton! What do you mean?” “I mean,” said Westerham, simply, “that Lord Dunton is my friend. You know me as James Robinson, a man who, in order to secure acquaintance with yourself, had to indulge in the very questionable privilege of a friendship with Melun.