Early on Monday morning the first batch started, being seen off at the gates by a crowd of their English friends. And that afternoon at _appel_ forty more were desired to hold themselves in readiness to start on the Wednesday. Still no reasons, no explanations, were vouchsafed, no apologies were made; and every détenu in the place lived on tenterhooks of suspense, not knowing whether his turn might come next. The second forty departed; and on Thursday another announcement was made to a third forty, that they too must prepare to go to Valenciennes on the Saturday. Upon some who were concerned the blow fell a few hours earlier. Although Wirion curtly declined to inform the détenus themselves which among them would be despatched next, he did take the trouble to send lists of their names to some leading tradesmen in the town; and from those quarters information might be obtained, though many of the détenus proudly refused so to seek it. “Roy, I want a word with you,” Denham said, towards the evening of Wednesday, putting his head into the salon. “Come here.” “Just in a minute. May I get----” “Never mind anything else. Come to my room.” Roy obeyed at once. “Shut the door. I have something to say to you.” Ivor motioned the boy to a chair. “I have just seen Curtis.” The tone was unusual. Roy looked hard at Denham. “Is something the matter?” “Yes. Wirion----” significantly. “Do tell me.” “Mrs. Curtis was so anxious about this Valenciennes business that she persuaded her husband to see one of the shop-lists.” “I know. Papa said he'd have nothing to do with that way of finding out.” “No. But Curtis went--and he finds----” “Are they ordered off? O I'm sorry. I like Mrs. Curtis. She's so jolly--like a boy, almost. I shall miss them ever so much. Are they really going? What a bother!” “Yes.” “Anybody else?” “Yes.” Denham's grave eyes met Roy's, with an expression which somehow sent Roy's heart down and down into his very shoes. The boy sat and stared--aghast and wordless. “I want you to know beforehand, not to be taken by surprise. When a thing has to be, it's no use making a fuss. For your mother's sake you must bear it bravely.” Roy had grown pale, and his gaze spoke of dismay and incredulity. “But you don't mean--you! Not you!” “Yes.” “Den!” “It is not difficult to find a cause. You see, we have held aloof from Wirion's set, and have declined his invitations. And I have managed to hold back one or two young fellows from those miserable gaming-tables. No doubt he prefers to have me out of the way for a while. It may be only for a few weeks. But----” Roy walked to the window, and stood with his back to Denham. Silence lasted fully three minutes. Denham remained where he was, looking sadly enough towards the boy. He had much to do, but Roy was his first consideration; and he knew from his own sensations what the parting would be to the other.