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"They think he'll recover. But at present, as I said it is a sad affair. Sad for him not for those who died together, suffering no pain. One of the Curé's favourite sayings used to be, they tell me, 'Death is not an end, but a beginning." "You know him well?" I asked. "Yes. I was stationed in Rheims before the war. I used to dance with Liane when she came home from school."
Many children of the poor whom Liane had helped decorated the chapel with flowers, and though the wedding-day was one of fierce bombardment, no one dreamed of putting off the ceremony. No fine shops for women's dress were open in Rheims, but the bride wore her mother's wedding-gown and veil of old lace.
"They will find me a tempestuous mistress," promised Liane Delorme, "when I question them about that open door."
The tiles collapsed like cards, and all the bridal party was killed as by a lightning stroke. Only the soldier-priest was spared. Strangely, he was not even touched. But horror had driven him mad. Since then he spoke only to rave of Liane and Jean; how beautiful they had looked, lying dead before the wrecked altar. "The doctors say it is like a case of shell-shock," the Captain finished.
Liane shut the door behind her, and reapproached the bed, trembling with an anger that rendered her forgetful, so that she relapsed into French. "You think she was listening?" "English, please!" To this Lanyard added a slight shrug.. "It is hard to believe," Liane averred unhappily. "After all these years... I have been kind to that one, too!" "Ah, well!
Also, the sun made itself felt, electric fans buzzed everywhere, and perspiring in utter indolence beneath the awnings, one thought in sympathy of those damned souls below, in the hell of the stoke-hole. At luncheon Liane Delorme appeared in a summery toilette that would have made its mark on the beach of Deauville. Voluntary or enforced, her period of retreat had done her good.
"That is no little journey, dear sister." "Three hundred and seventy kilometres?" Liane Delorme held this equivalent of two-hundred and thirty English miles in supreme contempt. "We shall make it in eight hours. We leave at four at latest, possibly earlier; at midnight we are in Cherbourg. You shall see." "If I survive..." "Have no fear. My chauffeur drives superbly."
So, if you think you owe me anything, Liane, help me to find and restore the Montalais jewels." Liane Delorme sat back, her hand lifted from his arm and fell with a helpless gesture. Her eyes mirrored no more guile than a child's. Yet her accent was that of one who remonstrates, but with forbearance, against unreasonable demands. "How can I do that?" And she had protested her gratitude to him!
"There!" he said "that's over, Liane. The beast is done for no more to fear from him. Now forget him brace up, and realise the debt you owe good Monsieur Phinuit." With a grin, that gentleman looked up from his efforts to revive Captain Monk.
"I have to be a bit careful," he confessed, covering the seat of injury with a tender hand, "but it's nothing like so troublesome as it was last night." "I am glad. You feel able to travel?" "Travel?" Lanyard made a face of dismay. "But one is so delightfully at ease here, and since the Prefecture cannot possibly suspect... Are you then in such haste to be rid of me, Liane?" "Not at all.
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