“Yes, this very evening. I find I can get down to Montreux in time for the night mail.” Then, answering her unspoken thought: “You’ll be quite all right. You will be certain to hear from Lady Anne in a day or two, and, meanwhile, I’ll ask Madame de Varigny to play chaperon. She’ll be delighted”--with a flash of the ironical humour that was never long absent from him. “Who was she before she married the Count?” queried Jean. “I can’t tell you. She is very reticent about her antecedents--probably with good reason”--smiling grimly. “But she is a big and beautiful person, and our little Count is obviously quite happy in his choice.” “She is rather a fascinating woman,” commented Jean. “Yes--but preferable as a friend rather than an enemy. I don’t know anything about her, but I wouldn’t mind wagering that she has a dash of Corsican blood in her. Anyway, she will look after you all right till Anne Brennan writes.” “And if no letter comes?” suggested Jean. “Or supposing Lady Anne can’t have me? We’re rather taking things for granted, you know.” His face clouded, but cleared again almost instantly. “She _will_ have you. Anne would never refuse a request of mine. If not, you must come on to me, and I’ll make other arrangements,”--vaguely. “I’ll let the next boat go, and stay in Paris till I hear from you. But I can’t wait here any longer.” He paused, then broke out hurriedly: “I ought never to have come to this place. It’s haunted. I know you’ll understand--you always do understand, I think, you quiet child--why I must go.” And Jean, looking with the clear eyes of unhurt youth into the handsome, grief-ravaged face, was suddenly conscious of a shrinking fear of that mysterious force called love, which can make, and so swiftly, terribly unmake the lives of men and women. CHAPTER III--THE STRANGER ON THE ICE “AND this friend of your father’s? You have not heard from her yet?” Jean and Madame de Varigny were breakfasting together the morning after Peterson’s departure. “No. I hoped a letter might have come for me by this morning’s post. But I’m afraid I shall be on your hands a day or two longer”--smiling. “But it is a pleasure!” Madame de Varigny reassured her warmly. “My husband and I are here for another week yet. After that we go on to St. Moritz. He is suddenly discontented with Montavan. If, by any chance, you have not then heard from Lady--Lady--I forget the name----” “Lady Anne Brennan,” supplied Jean. A curiously concentrated expression seemed to flit for an instant across Madame de Varigny’s face, but she continued smoothly: “_Mais, oui_--Lady Brennan. _Eh bien_, if you have not heard from her by the time we leave for St. Moritz, you must come with us. It would add greatly to our pleasure.”