So he stood that day, a fraud, a living sham, a man who took credit for achievements which were not his, for work which he, unaided, could never have brought to a successful accomplishment. And the worst of his position was, as he now felt it, that the excuse he might make told against him, was, in fact, the crux of his situation. For its avowal, the confession of the fraud, was out of the question. Were he not bound in honour to the friend, to whom he owed everything, not to divulge the secret; could he for very shame make it known that for years he had been living and thriving and gaining fame by another man’s brains? True, the situation had been acquiesced in by the other man, but would that be accepted as an excuse by the world which had hailed him, Geoffrey Herriard, as a supremely clever fellow? The world would feel it had been swindled out of its applause; it would turn and resent the cheat. Then, supposing he cared nothing for the world and its sneers, that he was prepared to brazen the matter out, should it come to light, to let its success justify the trick, how would it be with Alexia? Could he ever hope to rehabilitate himself in her eyes? He told himself, he knew it with absolute conviction, that she was as the soul of honour; how could he declare himself to her as an incarnation of falsehood? Sometimes he felt he could wish that she were guilty of this charge; it would at most have been a venial crime, and it would bring them a little nearer to an equality in wrong-doing. Then, often, in the conflict of his love, he would wish that he could break himself free of Gastineau: that he could run alone now, looking upon the past partnership as a term of mere pardonable tutelage. Then honour, never driven out from his false life, would rise and rebuke him for ingratitude. Still, he would argue, the bond between himself and Gastineau could scarcely be expected to run for the term of their lives. It would have to be determined sooner or later; and, after all, the benefit derived from the partnership was in some degree mutual. The sword which Gastineau had put into his hand, and the skill in fence which he had taught him, had been greatly used to stab the disabled fencer’s rivals and enemies, to prevent them from profiting by the disappearance of their old adversary. In the intoxicating whirl of success which had hurried him onwards and upwards, Herriard had not found pause to realize the true, inevitable logic of his position. Love was now the Nemesis which was bringing it bitterly home to him. And that same night the foreshadowing of another and totally unthought-of contingency rose to disturb him. This time it came from his fellow guest, and in this way.