Englishwoman and her father. They took breakfast at the table near to
mine in the restaurant car, and I could scarcely help overhearing what
they were saying. They chatted about you. Then I found your name in the
hotel register."

"But why did you look it up?" he challenged abruptly.

She parried the question. "The name caught my eye by accident. Naturally
I was interested by the coincidence."

Rivière turned the conversation to the impersonal subject of Arles and
its Roman remains, and soon after they said good-night.

"Shall I see you at breakfast?"

"I hope so," he answered.

As she moved out of the room, a splendidly graceful figure radiating
health and energy and life full-tide, Rivière could not help following
her with his eyes. His innermost being thrilled despite himself to the
magic of her splendid womanhood.

It plucked at the strings of the primitive man within him.

In his room that evening he took up the blood-drenched handkerchief. In
the corner was the name "Elaine Verney." The name conveyed nothing to
him. He threw the handkerchief away, and shut her from his thoughts. He
wanted no woman in this new life of his.

With the morning came a resolution to avoid her altogether. He rose very