bien!" Then, "The wine, the wine," he said, and his fingers again
clasped those of Shorland tremblingly. He took the glass in his right
hand and lifted it. "God guard all at home, God keep France!" he said.
He was about to place the glass to his lips, when a tremor seized him,
and the glass fell from his hand. He fell back, his breath quick and
vanishing, his eyes closing, and a faint smile upon his lips. "It is
always the same with France," he said; "always the same." And he was
gone.




V

The French had bought their victory dear with the death of Alencon Barre,
their favourite officer. When they turned their backs upon a quelled
insurrection, there was a gap that not even French buoyancy could fill.
On the morning of the twenty-fifth they neared Noumea. Shorland thought
of all that day meant to Luke and Clare. He was helpless to alter the
course of events, to stay a terrible possibility.

"You can never trust a woman of Gabrielle's stamp," he said to himself,
as they rode along through valleys of ferns, grenadillas, and limes.
"They have no baseline of duty; they either rend themselves or rend
others, but rend they must, hearts and not garments. Henri Durien knows,
and she knows, and Alencon Barre knew, poor boy! But what Barre knew is
buried with him back there under the palms. Luke and Clare are to be
married to-morrow-God help them! And I can see them in their home, he
standing by the fireplace in his old way--it's winter there--and looking
down at Clare; and on the other side of the fireplace sits the sister of