Where in thunder had his thoughts taken him again? He put his head in his hands. He had carried her around his whole schedule with him just as if this were some honest-to-God marriage. He had done this while she lay in the next room peacefully sleeping in perfect trust. She must never know this danger, nor be further subjected to it. There was only one safe way--to take the early train for Calais without even seeing her again. Monte sat down at the writing-desk and seized a pen. _Dear Marjory_ [he began]: Something has come up unexpectedly that makes it necessary for me to take an early train for England. I can't tell how long I shall be gone, but that of course is not important. I hope you will go on to Étois, as we had planned; or, at any rate, leave Paris. Somehow, I feel that you belong out under the blue sky and not in town. He paused a moment and read over that last sentence. Then he scratched it out. Then he tore up the whole letter. What he had to say should be not written. He must meet her in the morning and tell her like a man. CHAPTER XI A CANCELED RESERVATION Though it was late when he retired, Monte found himself wide awake at half past seven. Springing from bed, he took his cold tub, shaved, and after dressing proceeded to pack his bags. The process was simple; he called the hotel valet, gave the order to have them ready as soon as possible, and went below. From the office he telephoned upstairs to Marie, and learned that madame would meet him in the breakfast-room at nine. This left him a half-hour in which to pay his bill at the hotel, order a reservation on the express to Calais, and buy a large bunch of fresh violets, which he had placed on the breakfast table--a little table in a sunshiny corner. Monte was calmer this morning than he had been the night before. He was rested; the interval of eight hours that had passed since he last saw her gave him, however slight, a certain perspective, while his normal surroundings, seen in broad daylight, tended to steady him further. The hotel clerk, busy about his uninspired duties; the impassive waiters in black and white; the solid-looking Englishmen and their wives who began to make their appearance, lent a sense of unreality to the events of yesterday.