A touch fell on my arm. I turned. It was Clon. How he had stolen up so quietly, how long he had been at my elbow, I could not tell. But his eyes gleamed spitefully in their deep sockets, and he laughed with his fleshless lips; and I hated him. In the daylight the man looked more like a death’s-head than ever. I fancied that I read in his face that he knew my secret, and I flashed into rage at sight of him. ‘What is it?’ I cried, with another oath. ‘Don’t lay your corpse-claws on me!’ He mowed at me, and, bowing with ironical politeness, pointed to the house. ‘Is Madame served?’ I said impatiently, crushing down my anger. ‘Is that what you mean, fool?’ He nodded. ‘Very well,’ I retorted. ‘I can find my way then. You may go!’ He fell behind, and I strode back through the sunshine and flowers, and along the grass-grown paths, to the door by which I had come I walked fast, but his shadow kept pace with me, driving out the unaccustomed thoughts in which I had been indulging. Slowly but surely it darkened my mood. After all, this was a little, little place; the people who lived here--I shrugged my shoulders. France, power, pleasure, life, everything worth winning, worth having, lay yonder in the great city. A boy might wreck himself here for a fancy; a man of the world, never. When I entered the room, where the two ladies stood waiting for me by the table, I was nearly my old self again. And a chance word presently completed the work. ‘Clon made you understand, then?’ the young woman said kindly, as I took my seat. ‘Yes, Mademoiselle,’ I answered. On that I saw the two smile at one another, and I added: ‘He is a strange creature. I wonder that you can bear to have him near you.’ ‘Poor man! You do not know his story?’ Madame said. ‘I have heard something of it,’ I answered. ‘Louis told me.’ ‘Well, I do shudder at him sometimes,’ she replied, in a low voice. ‘He has suffered--and horribly, and for us. But I wish that it had been on any other service. Spies are necessary things, but one does not wish to have to do with them! Anything in the nature of treachery is so horrible.’ ‘Quick, Louis!’ Mademoiselle exclaimed, ‘the cognac, if you have any there! I am sure that you are--still feeling ill, Monsieur.’ ‘No, I thank you,’ I muttered hoarsely, making an effort to recover myself. ‘I am quite well. It was--an old wound that sometimes touches me.’ CHAPTER IV. MADAME AND MADEMOISELLE