In the salon upstairs were Colonel and Mrs. Baron, and with them was Lucille, as was often now her custom. She had gradually become almost a member of the Baron family, and one and all they were extremely fond of her. When Roy flung the door open, and marched triumphantly in, his arm through Ivor’s, one startled “Ah-h!” broke from her, before the other two had grasped what was happening; and then her face, usually almost without colour, became crimson. Her eyes shone, the lips remaining apart. “Denham!” the Colonel and his wife exclaimed. Colonel Baron’s grasp of Ivor’s hand and his fixed gaze were like those of Roy. Mrs. Baron’s delight was even more plainly expressed. She had long been as an elder sister to Denham, and when he bent to kiss her hand, with the grave deference which he always showed towards her, she did what she had never done before--gave him a sisterly kiss on the cheek. “This is joy! O this is joy,” she said. “Nothing else could be so great a happiness--except going home. Welcome, welcome!” Then she held his hand, with eyes full of tears searching his face. “But, my dear Denham, you have been ill--surely you have been ill. How thin!--how altered! What have you been doing to yourself?” “He has walked the whole way here from Valenciennes,” cried Roy, before Denham could speak. “He was to have ridden, and he gave up the horse to somebody else.” “Was that necessary?” the Colonel asked. “I thought it so, sir.” “Papa, he had no money left. That was why. He gave it all away. He couldn’t even pay the driver, coming up here.” “But you could have borrowed from somebody--you would know that I should repay!” “If I could have been sure, sir, that you would still be here--but there was no certainty. And so many now are in difficulties, that it is no easy matter to borrow--except by going to those whom I will have nothing to do with.” “How did you manage about food? My dear, make him sit down. How did you manage?” The question was disregarded. “Any letters?” Ivor asked. “One from Mrs. Fairbank a few weeks since. That is all. Good accounts of Polly and Molly. Have you not heard from them?” “Not since leaving Verdun.” “They may not have heard of your going to Valenciennes. Did you see a statement in the _Moniteur_ not long since, as to correspondence with England? To the effect that more than a hundred thousand letters had been taken possession of by the French Government, and bills to the value of millions of pounds sterling.” “No wonder we détenus are not flush of cash! No, I did not see it. That may have been when I was ill.” “You have been ill, then?” “Yes. Nothing to signify. How did Mrs. Fairbank’s letter reach you? Post?” “Through M. de Marchand--under cover to him. We have advised her repeatedly to try again that mode, since it seems the most hopeful. But doubtless our letters don’t reach them.”