much in common--he had known many priests in the North, known much good
of them. The cure glanced up at him now as they passed, and a half-sad
smile crossed his face. Gaston caught it as it passed. The cure read
his case truly enough and gently enough too. In some wise hour he would
plead with Gaston for the woman's soul and his own.

Gaston did not find Andree at the chateau. She had gone out alone
towards the sea, Annette said, by a route at the rear of the village.
He went also, but did not find her. As he came again to the quay he saw
the Kismet beating upon the rocks--the sailors had given up any idea of
saving her. He stood and watched the sea breaking over her, and the
whole scene flashed back on him. He thought how easily he could be
sentimental over the thing. But that was not his nature. He had made
his bed, but he would not lie in it--he would carry it on his back.
They all said that he had gone on the rocks. He laughed.

"I can turn that tide: I can make things come my way," he said. "All
they want is sensation, it isn't morals that concerns them. Well, IT
give them sensation. They expect me to hide, and drop out of the game.
Never--so help me Heaven! I'll play it so they'll forget this!"

He rolled and lighted a cigarette, and went again to the chateau. Dinner
was ready--had been ready for some time. He sat down, and presently
Andree came. There was a look in her face that he could not understand.
They ate their dinner quietly, not mentioning the events of the
afternoon.

Presently a telegram was brought to him. It read: "Come. My office,
Downing Street, Friday. Expect you." It was signed "Faramond." At the
same time came letters: from his grandfather, from Captain Maudsley. The