Across the silence of sheer fatigue their eyes met--Jean’s filled with a wistful solicitude as unconscious and candid as a child’s, the man’s curiously brilliant and inscrutable--and in a moment the silence had become something other, different, charged with emotional significance, the revealing silence which falls suddenly between a man and woman. At last: “This is what comes of stealing a day from Mrs. Grundy,” commented the man drily. And the tension was broken. He sprang up, as though, anxious to maintain the recovered atmosphere of the commonplace. “Come! Having shot her bolt and tried ineffectually to down you in a ditch, I expect the old lady will let us get home safely now. We’re through the worst. There are no more drifts between here and the hotel.” It was true. Anything that might have spelt danger was past, and it only remained to follow the beaten track up to the hotel, though even so, with the wind and snow driving in their faces, it took them a good half-hour to accomplish the task. Monsieur and Madame de Varigny, a distracted _maître d’hôtel_, and a little crowd of interested and sympathetic visitors welcomed their arrival. “_Mon dieu, mademoiselle!_ But we rejoice to see you back!” exclaimed Madame de Varigny. “We ourselves are only newly returned--and that, with difficulty, through this terrible storm--and we arrive to find that none knows where you are!” “Me, I made sure that mademoiselle had accompanied _Madame la Comtesse._” asseverated Monsieur Vautrinot, nervously anxious to exculpate himself from any charge of carelessness. “We were just going to organise a search-party,” added the little Count. “I, myself”--stoutly--“should have joined in the search.” Weary as she was, Jean could hardly refrain from smiling at the idea of the diminutive Count in the rôle of gallant preserver. He would have been considerably less well-qualified even than herself to cope with the drifting snow through which the sheer, dogged strength of the Englishman had brought her safely. Instinctively she turned with the intention of effecting an introduction between the latter and the Varignys, only to find that he had disappeared. He had taken the opportunity presented by the little ferment of excitement which had greeted her safe return to slip away. She felt oddly disconcerted. And yet, she reflected, it was so like him--so like the conception of him which she had formed, at least--to evade both her thanks and the enthusiasm with which a recital of the afternoon’s adventure Would have been received. CHAPTER VI--THE MAGIC MOMENT JEAN, surprisingly revived by a hot bath and a hot drink, and comfortably tucked up beside the fire in her room, was recounting the day’s adventure to Madame de Varigny.