"I am glad," he continued. "I shall have that to remember. I do not suppose that I shall see you often any more. Very likely you will not come back to Roquebrune--very likely I shall never see you again. And if I do not, I should like you to know that last night will make a difference to me." He was now speaking with a simple directness. Pamela raised her face towards his. He could see that his words greatly rejoiced her; a very tender smile was upon her lips, and her eyes shone. There were tears in them. "I am so glad," she said. "I resented your coming to me at first," he went on--"I was a fool; I am now most grateful that you did come. I learnt that you had at last found the happiness which I think you have always deserved. You know I have always thought that it is a bad thing when such a one as you is wasted upon loneliness and misery--the world is not so rich that it can afford such waste. And if only because you told me that a change had come for you, I should be grateful for the visit which you paid me. But there is more. You spoke a very true word last night when you told me it was a help to be needed by those one needs." "You think that too?" said Pamela. "Yes, now I do," he answered. "It will always be a great pride to me that you needed me. I shall never forget that you knocked upon my door one dark night in great distress. I shall never forget your face, as I saw it framed in the light when I came out into the porch. I shall never forget that you stood within my room, and called upon me, in the name of our old comradeship, to rise up and help you. I think my room will be hallowed by that recollection." And he lowered his voice suddenly and said, "I think I shall see you as I saw you when I opened the door, between myself and the threshold of the wineshop; that is what I meant to say." He held out his hand, and, as Pamela took it, he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. "Good-bye," he said; and turning away quickly he left her up in the place where she had known the best of him, and went down to his schoolroom in the square of Roquebrune. Very soon the sing-song of the children's voices was droning from the open windows. Pamela remained upon the terrace. The breaking of old ties is always a melancholy business, and here was one broken to-day. It was very unlikely, she thought, that she would ever see her friend the little schoolmaster again. She would be returning to England immediately, and she would not come back to the Villa Pontignard. She was still in that corner of the garden when another visitor called upon her. She heard his footsteps on the gravel of the path, and, looking up, saw Warrisden approaching her. She rose from the parapet and went forward to meet him. She understood that he had come with his old question, and she spoke first. The question could wait just for a little while. "You have seen Tony?" she asked.