While sincerely anxious to help, full of sympathy for their position, and most desirous to cheer them up, she plainly feared to be guilty of intrusion, and very soon she took herself off with Madame Courant to the ground floor. A somewhat clumsy but well-intentioned maiden had been deputed to wait upon the upstairs party--probably had been hired for the purpose, since Madame Courant did most of her own house-work--and dinner was laid in the smaller salon in readiness for their arrival. On the whole that first meal might be reckoned a success. Madame Courant was no mean cook; and though not much could be said as to the actual waiting, from an English point of view, that was a minor matter, compared with the comfort of finding clean and cosy quarters, not to speak of a kind reception. Roy did his best to supply all deficiencies in the conversational line, and his efforts were seconded, though not vigorously, by Denham. When, however, dinner was at an end, and they had moved into the larger salon, which was to be their drawing-room--when a long evening lay before them, and there was nothing that had to be done, beyond a certain amount of unpacking and arranging, which no one felt disposed to begin upon at once--then a change came. Then the shadow of their captivity descended heavily upon them all, even upon the valiant Roy; and for once the spirit of cheerfulness and of keeping up seemed to vanish. For a quarter of an hour they all remained together, no one speaking. No one was able to speak. They had nothing whatever to say. And presently, when this had gone on a little while, Mrs. Baron made a move, retreating into her own bedroom, avowedly to "see to a few things," but in reality, as they all knew, to indulge in a breakdown--her husband, after a brief hesitation, going thither also. Denham had flagged completely, retreating to a shady corner near the big fireplace, where he could scarcely be seen; and for Ivor to flag meant the flagging of everybody. As for Roy--but that he would have been ashamed, counting himself already almost a man, he could at this stage have flung himself on the ground and cried like a little child for very home-sickness. He wanted Molly--oh, most awfully! He wanted her this evening more than he had ever wanted anything or anybody in his whole life. The craving that took possession of him for Molly's face, Molly's voice, Molly's companionship--the passionate desire to have dear little Molly once more by his side--was a pain never to be forgotten.