She clasped her hands together. "Oh! If he only knew how much we all wish to meet him, to thank and express our gratitude for all he has done for us." "Perhaps he does!" She turned swiftly round, so that she was directly facing him. "You mean--he is coming--here, and soon?" "To-night!" "Oh! Oh!" Too full for words, Cecile could say nothing. For days she had prayed for the opportunity of speaking to the White Knight--to him who had snatched her father from the very gates of death. Now at last it seemed that she was to have the opportunity. "I--I shall see him then?" Arnold hesitated. He realized that he was going to have difficulty in explaining the situation. "Yes and no," he muttered slowly. "You may be able to speak to him, but not actually see him." Two faint, twin lines betrayed themselves upon her forehead. "Speak to him but not see him! I do not understand!" "No, mademoiselle, I did not expect you to do so. The White Knight has instructed me to prepare a pitch-dark room in which to receive you, and only in that room will you meet him." She shook her head doubtfully. "Yet still I do not comprehend." Arnold hesitated. "It is that no one shall recognize him." For the moment she still did not realize, then her eyes filled with tears, and when she spoke reproach and disappointment throbbingly disclosed themselves in her voice. "He is afraid of being betrayed! How could he think that, when there is not one of us here who would not sooner die than expose him to the Communists? Does he not trust us?" "Mademoiselle, do not think that of him. Of course he trusts you. Could he do otherwise?" Skilfully he endeavoured to change the current of her thoughts by the implied compliment, but the hurt rankled in her heart. "Then what other reason has he for taking such precautions?" "Why, plenty.... I--I mean, I do not know! I do not question him!" Arnold floundered, and silently cursed as he foresaw too well what her next words would be. "So he is not the only one who does not trust me," she replied coldly. "I am sorry, monsieur." "Mademoiselle!" Desperately he appealed to her. "I did not mean that; you are twisting my words. Why--I--I would lay down my life to serve you. I--I----" He stopped suddenly as he realized that his heart was overpowering his head, thoughts which he supposed to be locked in the deepest recesses of his being were forcing themselves to utterance. "Mademoiselle, I must go at once," he muttered. "Very well!" She shook her shoulders and turned aside. With a despairing look at her he slowly moved away, and so missed the bewitching smile which sprang into her eyes as she watched him disappearing down the passage. _CHAPTER VIII_