He opened the door and going out into the hall, rang for the elevator. She looked after him hopelessly. Then a sudden idea flashed like a ray of lightning into the black confusion of her mind. She followed him out into the hall quickly. "Wait a minute, I am going too." He stood aside, as she entered the elevator in front of him. They emerged into the pretentious entrance-hall and Claire, still preceding him with Bébé in her arms went out into the sun-lit street. Hand to his cap, the chauffeur jumped nimbly into a large Cadillac by the curb and drove away. Claire looked after him with an air of frightened triumph. A small pad in her hand, she had hastily scrawled down the license number. CHAPTER V CLAIRE'S RENUNCIATION For days the sun had shone brilliantly upon the mountainside, and the lodge had long since emerged from its heavy swathing of fog. No longer a boat floating through mystic seas, it was divested of a certain glamour. But remained, nevertheless, a very comfortable and picturesque shelter. Perched pertly beside the road that overhung the valley, it afforded a bird's-eye view of checkered fields and a winding river, that gleamed like a silver girdle about the base of purple hills. Alexis revelled in the glorious sunshine. Weak, but quiescent after his fever, he was content to sit on the rustic porch, a rug about his knees, and gaze through the brilliant foliage at the vivid valley, which sparkled in the thin autumn air with all the detailed perfection of a mosaic. This particular morning was the most perfect of them all. With a sigh of enjoyment Alexis stretched his limbs in a perfection of relaxation which he had not known for years. "It is strange," he said, "how rested and peaceful I feel. All the terrible irritability seems to have left me entirely." "It went away with the fever-devil," laughed Anne, who was sketching a stunted pine beside the roadway. "A most suitable match, don't you think?" Alexis laughed uncertainly. "I only hope it never returns," he said, somewhat uneasily. "Nerves have as many lives as a cat, you know, and an unerring instinct for home. One never can tell when they will spring upon one again from the dark." "I suppose the moral of that is to always keep a light handy," said Anne gaily, but with a quick glance of pity for the worn boyish face. "That's all very well, but what if your stock of matches has run out and you're groping about in the dark?" he exclaimed whimsically, but with a significant tightening of the lips. Anne leaned over and laid her hand on his shoulder. "Then you must ask someone else to give you a light," she said softly. He caught her fingers in his and pressed them. "Some good Samaritan like you," he cried. His eyes filled with nervous tears.