He began to tremble violently. “I would rather die,” said he, “than betray my secret.” “It's all some silly nonsense about that wretched horse!” I exclaimed. He covered his ears with his hands. “Blasphemy! Blasphemy! Don't utter it!” In another moment he was cowering on his knees before me. “You, of all men, mustn't blaspheme. You whom I love like my master. You whom the divine lady loves. I can't bear it!” He continued to gibber unintelligibly. He was stark mad. There was no question of it. For a moment I stood irresolute. Then I lifted him to his feet and patted his head soothingly. “Never mind,” said I. “I was wrong. It was a beautiful horse. There never was such a horse in the world. If I had a picture of him I would hang it up on the wall over my bed.” “Would you?” he cried joyfully. “Then I will give you one.” He trotted over to the bundle of papers that reposed in his hat on the floor, searched through them, and to my dismay handed me a faded, unmounted, and rather torn and crumpled photograph of the wonderful horse. “There!” said he. “I could not rob you of it,” I protested. “It will be my joy to know that you have it--that it is hanging over your bed. See--have you a pin? I myself will fix it for you.” While he was searching my table for pins the chasseur of the hotel came with a message from Madame Brandt. Would Monsieur come at once to Madame in her private room? “I'll come now,” I said. “Professor, you must excuse me.” “Don't mention it. I shall occupy myself in hanging the picture in the most artistic way possible.” So I left him, his mind apparently concentrated on the childish task of pinning the photograph of the ridiculous horse on my bedroom wall, and went with the most complicated feelings downstairs and through the corridors to Lola's apartments. She rose to meet me as I entered. “It's very kind of you to come,” she said in her fluent but Britannic French. “May I present my husband, Monsieur Vauvenarde.” Monsieur Vauvenarde and I exchanged bows. I noticed at once that he wore the Frenchman's costume when he pays a _visite de ceremonie_, frock-coat and gloves, and that a silk hat lay on the table. I was glad that he paid her this mark of respect. “I have had the pleasure of meeting you before, Monsieur,” said he, “in circumstances somewhat different.” “I remember perfectly,” said I. “And your charming but inexperienced little friend--is he well?” “He is at present decorating my room with photographs of Madame's late horse, Sultan,” said I. He was startled, and gave me a quick, sharp look. I did not notice it at the time, but I remembered it later. Then he broke into an indulgent laugh. “The poor animal!” He turned to Lola. “How jealous I used to be of him! And how quickly the time flies. But give yourself the trouble of seating yourself, Monsieur.”