By the time that the waning moon was high enough in the eastern sky to shed an appreciable light upon their path, they reached the junction of the two roads and set off at a brisk pace southward toward Ipswich. So far as the eye could reach, the wide heath was deserted, and they talked at their ease. "There is nothing for it but to wake up my driver and make him take us back to Ipswich to-night. To-morrow morning we can take train to London and be there almost as soon as John Turner realises that you have given him the slip," said Colville, cheerily. "And then?" "And then back to France--where the sun shines, my friend, and the spring is already in the air. Think of that! It is so, at least, at Gemosac, for I heard from the Marquis before I quitted Paris. Your disappearance has nearly broken a heart or two down there, I can tell you. The old Marquis was in a great state of anxiety. I have never seen him so upset about anything, and Juliette did not seem to be able to offer him any consolation." "Back to France?" echoed Barebone, not without a tone of relief, almost of exultation, in his voice. "Will it be possible to go back there, since we have to run away from Farlingford?" "Safer there than here," replied Colville. "It may sound odd, but it is true. De Gemosac is one of the most powerful men in France--not intellectually, perhaps, but by reason of his great name--and they would not dare to touch a protégé or a guest of his. If you go back there now you must stay at Gemosac; they have put the château into a more habitable condition, and are ready to receive you." He turned and glanced at Loo's face in the moonlight. "There will be a difference, you understand. You will be a different person from what you were when last there," he went on, in a muffled voice. "Yes, I understand," replied Barebone, gravely. Already the dream was taking shape--Colville's persuasive voice had awakened him to find that it was no dream, but a reality--and Farlingford was fading back into the land of shadows. It was only France, after all, that was real. "That journey of ours," explained Colville, vaguely, "has made an extraordinary difference. The whole party is aroused and in deadly earnest now." Barebone made no answer, and they walked on in meditative silence toward the roadside inn, which stood up against the southern sky a few hundred yards ahead. "In fact," Colville added, after a silence, "the ball is at your feet, Barebone. There can be no looking back now." And again Barebone made no answer. It was a tacit understanding, then.