Jean stared at its blank, foolish face. The hands had pointed to half-past eleven when the door of the room had closed behind Blaise and Madame de Varigny. It had taken just a brief half-hour to smash up her whole world--to rob her of everything that mattered. “I must think--I must think,” she muttered. “Belovedest”--Blaise’s voice was wonderfully tender--not with the passionate tenderness of a lover but with a solicitude that was almost maternal. “Belovedest, don’t try to think now. Try to rest a little, won’t you?” And at that Jean came right back to an understanding of all that had happened, as the needle of a compass swings back to the frozen north. “Rest?” she said. “_Rest?_ Do you realise that I shall have all the remainder of life to--rest in? There’ll he nothing else to do.” She released herself very gently from Tormarin’s arms and, crossing the room to the window, stood looking out. “How funny!” she said in a rather high-pitched, uncertain voice. “It all looks just the same--although everything in the world is changed.” He came and stood beside her. “No,” he said quietly. “Nothing is changed, dear. Our love is the same as it was before. Always remember that.” “But we can’t every marry now.” “No. We can’t marry--now. You’ll never have the Tormarin temper to bear with, after all!” She laid her hand swiftly across his lips. “Oh, it was dreadful!” she said, recalling the terrible scene which she had interrupted. “It--it hardly seemed--_you_, Blaise.” “For the moment it wasn’t. It was the Tormarin devil--the curse of every generation. But I think that Varigny woman could turn a saint into a devil if she tried! She said something about you--and I couldn’t stand it.” “Was that it? Then I suppose I shall have to forgive you”--with a pale little attempt at a smile. But the half-hearted smile faded again almost instantly. “Oh, Blaise, what would your temper matter if we could still be together?” she cried passionately. “Nothing in the wide world would matter then!” Presently she spoke again. “But it’s worse for you than for me. I wish it were more equal.” “How worse for me? I don’t understand. Unless”--with a brief, sad smile--“you love me less?” “Ah, you know I don’t mean that! But I’ve only the separation to face. I’m not tied to somebody I don’t love. You’ve got Nesta to consider.” “Nesta?” He gave a short, grim laugh. “Nesta can go back to where she came from.” There was a long silence. At last Jean broke it. “Blaise, you can’t do that--you can’t send her away again,” she said in quick, low tones. “She’s your wife.” “My wife! She seems to have been oblivious of the fact--and to have wished me to be equally oblivious of it--for the last few years.” “Yes, of course she’s been wrong, wickedly wrong. But that doesn’t alter the fact that she’s your responsibility, Blaise. You must take her back.”