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  He touched her hands, one of which was toying with the short stem of her liqueur glass.

  “These are so very delicate—almost flower-like! The whole of you is flower-like, as if it was intended you should be carefully cherished, but some miscalculation on the part of your parents— or some misfortune—made that impossible! Instead you have had to fend for yourself, and that is not right! Tell me, now, how long have you had to do this fending for yourself?”

  “Ever since my parents died.” A shadow crossed her face. “They were killed simultaneously in a car accident, just before I was due to leave school.”

  “And when you left school there was no money?”

  “No, I—I had to get a job at once. But luckily I had taken a commercial course, and I could type and do shorthand, and that sort of thing.”

  “And you found a job easily enough?”

  “Yes; with a firm of solicitors. I am with them now.” “That is good,” he said. His slim fingers carried his cigarette up to his lips, and he inhaled deeply for a moment, his eyes still resting on

  her. “You must have given satisfaction, little one. How many years is that?”

  This time it was she who smiled with faint amusement, her wood-violet eyes glinting into his.

  “In other words, how old am I? Twenty-two,” she told him.

  He made a slight sound as if the breath checked for an instant in his throat, and then she distinctly heard him sigh. It was a quite unmistakable sigh.

  “In that case I can give you ten years! Ten years!” he repeated sombrely. “Does that make me seem very old?”

  “No.”

  But she could have added that the lines in his face— the telltale lines around his mouth, and below his eyes (nothing to do with the laughter wrinkles at their corners) made him seem very old in experience. Those additional ten years of his had been well lived—intensely lived rather than well, perhaps! With such a man it would be unwise to enquire into the manner in which he had spent those years, and the advantages, or otherwise, they had brought him. And at the thought a shadow seemed to fall across Caroline’s heart. He was so attractive, so rather quaintly good-looking. His eyelashes were so thick and long and black that they cast shadows in his eyes, and lent him rather a “little boy” look. But there was nothing “little boy” about the knowledge that lay behind them, although the eyes themselves were soft and lustrous and beautiful. Yes, quite, quite beautiful, she thought...! And felt as if the shadow became an actual tight squeeze in the region of her heart. She looked quickly away from him.

  “Tell me how you contracted the pneumonia?” he asked.

  She told him exactly how she had contracted it, and by the time she had finished—long before she had finished —his eyes were almost black with concern, and definitely a little angry as well.

  “It’s impossible!” he exclaimed. “That such a thing should be allowed to happen...! But it must never happen again!” His voice

  was very definite. “We must see to that!” And then, with more curiosity: “But although this thing did happen to you—although you were left alone so long—you have friends in England? Good friends, perhaps?”

  “I have one or two.”

  “Special friends?”

  “There is a girl in my office with whom I often spend weekends. We go hiking together sometimes, and to concerts— when we are in sufficient funds,” with a sudden smile that irradiated the whole of her small, fair face. “The Festival Hall, and places of that sort.”

  “No friends of the opposite sex? One in particular?”

  She shook her head, feeling her colour rise a little because of the earnestness of his expression.

  He uttered an exclamation.

  “What is wrong with your fellow countrymen? Have they no eyes?” Then, almost jealously: “You are sure that occasionally no one takes you to a dance, or to the theatre?”

  She laughed a little mischievously.

  “I belong to a tennis club, and occasionally we hold dances. Naturally on those occasions I don’t always dance with members

  of my own sex.”

  His eyes seemed to spark a little.

  “And afterwards they see you home?”

  She nodded.

  “And—kiss you? On your doorstep?”

  “I think,” she said, feeling around for her handbag, and collecting her gloves, and sounding very demure indeed, “that we should go now. But thank you very much for the lunch, Monsieur de Bergerac.

  “Robert,” he insisted. “Say Robert!”

  She said it, deleting the ‘T, so that it sounded somehow much more exciting than the ordinary English Robert.

  As they left the restaurant he kept his hand under her arm, and he looked much more sombre than when they entered it. Just

  before he put her into the car he asked with his dark brows almost meeting:

  “You are sure that no man has ever kissed you on your doorstep?”

  Suddenly she felt curiously light-hearted, even lightheaded, and she heard herself laughing in a light-hearted manner.

  “Where I live there is no proper doorstep. You walk straight into the hall—rather a grim hall!—and then up an appallingly steep flight of stairs to a door with a number on it. There is seldom any real light burning on the stairs, so when you reach your number you go straight in because the stairs are also very narrow, and not the kind of stairs on which one would wish to linger!” His eyes looked down at her, once more a trifle quizzical. “Involved, but satisfactory,” he answered. “I feel the first glimmerings of approval where your landlady is concerned!”

  CHAPTER V

  They drove back to the chateau through the sleepy warmth of the afternoon, and after such an excellent lunch Caroline felt highly appreciative of the comfort of the red-lined cream car. It was very low-slung, and the seats were superlatively well sprung, and de Bergerac was a smoothly efficient driver. He didn’t put on sudden bursts of speed, and then slow, leaving his passenger’s stomach behind them. He maintained a fairly high rate of speed all the time, but there was so much confidence in his shapely brown hands resting on the wheel that Caroline would not have been alarmed if they had touched even a higher rate of speed.

  But when they entered the forest he had, perforce, to slow. The forest trees were all round them, engulfing them as if they intended to swallow them up eventually. The shade was delicious after the glare of the white road leading out of Le Fontaine, and

  Caroline felt the prickles of heat fading from her forehead, and a sort of sensuous soothingness entered into her soul. For the first time she noticed that a silvery stream meandered through the woods, and on its banks the coolness was like a

  caress. There were long grasses, reeds, and a silver birch or two bending above the water, and in a clear space her companion stopped the car. She found herself looking at the tumbledown gateway to a cottage that was almost on top of the water, and at the end of a flagged path chimneys sagged wearily, a roof gaped open, and a doorway leaned lopsidedly on its hinges.

  De Bergerac shook his head as he silenced the car.

  “This is bad,” he said. ‘This is worse than I ever expected!”

  Caroline looked at him curiously.

  “Not—your cottage?” she asked. “The place where you spent last night?”

  He smiled at her, a flashing, provocative smile.

  ‘‘Come and see,” he said, and helped her out of the car. They trod the flagged path side by side, although he was a little in advance of her by the time they reached the door. He put out a cautious hand and thrust it open, and it grated protestingly. Caroline drew back a little, but he urged her forward, smiling more one-sidedly, teasing her about hobgoblins, and then assuring her in. the next breath that there were none in the cottage.

  “But you who spent last night alone in a strange chateau would not fear them in any case,” he said. ‘‘You were so certain the chateau ghosts are kindly, but you haven’t informed me yet whether you had any converse with them
!”

  She smiled back at him uncertainly.

  “Did you?”

  ‘‘Of course I didn’t!”

  His white teeth flashed a trifle mockingly, and he stood aside from the doorway.

  “After you, Mademoiselle Carol!”

  But her footstep was faltering as it carried her over the threshold, and she had no chance to take in more than a bare floor and a brick fireplace, a rickety chair and a table, before something rushed at her, and she let out a terrified shriek and turned and hurled herself into the arms of the man behind her.

  They went round her and held her fast with the greatest promptitude, and she seemed to burrow herself deep into his hold, for the noise in her ears had been like the wild rushing of wings, and she had had a distinct impression of a black shape hovering in front of her, and tiny eyes deeply embedded in a mass of fur that had actually brushed against her face.

  She shuddered wildly and convulsively.

  “Oh...! O-oh...! What was it? What was it-------------------?”

  “It was nothing,” the man chided, holding her so tightly that it should have interfered with her breathing, only she didn’t notice it. “Only a bat!”

  “A—a bat?”

  She put back her head and looked up at him, and his brown eyes looked back at her gently.

  “But supposing it had got into my hair!”

  He laughed—gaily, ringingly. And then all at once he sobered, and he stroked the bright brown hair from which the shadowy straw hat she had worn with her pink linen dress had fallen, and his fingers had a soothing magic that made her feel instantly ashamed of her behaviour. She tried to draw herself out of his arms, but he wouldn’t let her go, and instead he went on stroking her hair until she felt utterly at peace, and inclined to sigh with relief.

  “Even if it had, I could have removed it, couldn’t I? And bats are not so stupid as all that, although the temptation for anything to attach itself to this soft hair of yours must be great indeed!” and he lowered his cheek for an instant, and she smelled the fragrance of his shaving cream. Then she heard him say more severely: “But I shouldn’t have allowed you to come in here first! I am entirely at fault that you have suffered a shock!”

  “It wasn’t a shock. I was just silly, I-----------”

  She looked up at him, where she still stood in his hold, and their eyes met and held, and went on meeting and holding as if it was impossible for either of them to look away. Caroline felt as if something deep inside her started to tremble a little, and then as if all her bones were no longer quite as firm as they once had been, and inclined to melt altogether beneath the influence of some extraordinary emotion that was creeping up over her like a wave. And she said to herself silently but clearly that she didn’t want to draw herself away—that these were arms that had been designed expressly to hold her, and that all her life she had known that they would do so one day, and he had known it, too, and therefore it was unreasonable that they should have to draw apart, when all they wanted— all they both wanted...!

  She gave a little gasp, felt genuinely shocked and bewildered, and succeeded in wrenching herself out of his clasp. She turned unsteadily to the rickety chair behind her.

  “You must think I’m—foolish...!”

  His eyes were very dark—almost black—and he studied her as if the last thing he thought was that she was foolish. Then he made sure that the chair was stable enough to hold her, and she sat down on it.

  “But”—and she looked about the living-room of the cottage in sudden amazement—”you couldn’t possibly have slept here last night! Surely this isn’t the place where you slept... ?”

  The tension had passed, and his twinkling smile was back.

  “No. I curled up on your mat, as I suggested to you I should do!” As she looked almost horrified, his smile challenged her. “Well, perhaps not literally on your mat, but I selected a room in a wing very remote from the one you are occupying at the chateau, and spent the night there. Part of the night, that is.”

  “And the other part?”

  “I wandered about—a kind of night watchman, you know!” He sat down gingerly on the edge of the table, and lighted a cigarette. “You didn’t honestly think I would leave you alone, did you, Carol?” his face becoming completely serious. “So worn out, and small, and defenceless—even helpless when I carried you up to bed!” He avoided looking at her, and looked at the tip of his cigarette instead. “I knew I couldn’t leave you, whatever the world might say about our spending the night in the same otherwise deserted house. There are occasions when conventions don’t really matter, and last night was one of them.”

  “It—it was good of you to remain,” she heard herself whispering, also not daring to look at him. “I slept very well, but I thought I heard someone moving about on the terrace at one time during the night.”

  “And you weren’t afraid? The sound didn’t disturb you?”

  “No—curiously enough it didn’t disturb me!”

  “Perhaps you really are very bold and brave?”

  “No, I’m not—I can assure you I’m not!” Their glances came together, and clung for a moment. “Perhaps I sensed that you were

  not—an intruder.... ”

  “So far as you’re concerned, knowing less than nothing about me, I might well have been an intruder!” Then he walked to the tiny, deep-set window, and stood looking out at the tangled garden. “But history will not repeat itself to-night, for I have arranged that someone will move in before dark, and that someone will be well able to look after you. As a matter of fact, we’re going to call in and see her on our way back, but I’ve already sent her a note, and I know she won’t fail me. She is one of Armand’s favourite tenants.” “Oh, yes?” looking at him for further information.

  He ground out his cigarette on the window-ledge.

  “I’ve told you that Armand has one virtue, and one virtue only, and that is generosity! He really can be extremely generous on occasion—it’s a kind of weakness, actually, and he probably fancies himself as a noble benefactor when he can so easily afford it, and nobody ever acted the part of a noble benefactor to him! It’s the sort of thing people wish to do when they want to possess some sort of saving grace..! However, this young woman’s husband was sent to prison for some sort of a housebreaking offense, and Armand came to the rescue with a spot of financial assistance. It was badly needed, for there are two small children, and Monique couldn’t very well leave them to earn money. So we are now on our way to Monique....”

  “I see.” She stood up. “But if it was the Comte who was generous to her, why should this Monique do something to oblige you?” “Because we’re in the same boat, she and I—we both find it so comforting to lean upon the Comte!” and once again there was a mocking gleam in his eyes.

  She looked at him a little doubtfully, and then a little frown drew her soft brown eyebrows together.

  “At the present time we’re all three a nuisance to the Comte, aren’t we? I ought to be looking round for a little hotel to stay at, and not put you to the trouble of finding someone to look after me.”

  For answer he picked up her hat from the stone floor of the cottage, dusted it carefully with his own immaculate handkerchief, and then handed it back to her with a little bow.

  “Shall we go now and find Monique?” he said.

  She sighed.

  “Nevertheless, I am a trouble....” Then, as she followed him outside she asked curiously: “But why did we come here?” She looked up at the creeper-clad front of what had once been a delightful, if diminutive, dwelling. “It’s in an appalling state, isn’t it?” with regret in her tones. “And it must once have been very pretty.”

  “It was.” His eyes were on the gaping thatch, and he shook his head. “I did once spend a very pleasant few weeks here, and I wanted to see it again. I must report to Armand that unless he does something soon there won’t be any roof left to this place, and that would be a pity.”

  “You th
ink you might like to come and stay here again?”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps,” he repeated, and let his glance rove over her, and her cool pink linen, before he once more shut her into his car.

  Monique’s cottage was in a much better state of repair than the one they had just left, and she was hanging out a line of washing in her small garden when the car stopped outside the gate. She looked confused when Caroline stepped from the car, patted her windblown brown hair, and fumbled with the strings of her apron, as if she didn’t quite know whether or not to remove it. She had very rosy cheeks, and bright brown eyes, and Caroline liked her on sight.

  “Bonjour, mdm selle!—Bonjour, monsieur”she greeted.

  De Bergerac addressed her with his most attractive smile.

  “We’re here, Monique, and I know you’re not going to let me down, are you?” looking down confidently into the slightly—in fact, rather curiously—awed brown eyes. He introduced Caroline. “This lady has been ill, and she must be looked after. I know you can do it excellently, Monique.”

  Monique looked long, and rather carefully, at the English girl “Mademoiselle looks pale and spirituelle” she announced, at last. “She has undoubtedly been very ill!”

  “Oh, I’m much better now,” Caroline assured her, smiling.

  “But, all the same, it is as well to take care! The good Marthe has already told me all about you and your illness.”

  “Oh!”

  Caroline felt a little awkward, knowing that she had been discussed.

  Then, round the side of the house, came a small child struggling along with an enormous cat in his arms. At first Caroline thought he was a girl, for he had such a curly mass of honey-blond hair, but on depositing the cat at her feet she discovered that there was something essentially sturdy and masculine about him. “I am Thibault,” he told her, “and this is Jacqueline, my cat. Jacqueline has had many kittens, but we have drowned the lot!”

  “Except the very last lot,” put in a thin, elfin-like girl with a wispy fringe and the most solemn grey eyes Caroline had ever seen in her life. They were positively luminous grey eyes, and they were fixed upon her face. “I had one for myself, and the others were given away.” “Were they, indeed, Marie-Josette?” de Bergerac barely murmured, and the small girl turned, and simply hurled herself upon him. Her thin arms went round his neck until he was almost strangled, and even her undernourished legs went round him and held him tight—until her mother dragged her away with ferocious scoldings.