Elaine bowed her head in the shame of those bitter words.

Riviere came to her side and kissed her hand reverently.

"You did this for me. I understand all. Elaine, dear, I understand it all. There's no need for you to explain."

"You don't believe----?"

"Not a word of it! You're the sweetest, bravest----" Words failed him, and he could only take her hand tenderly in his and let his welter of unspoken thoughts go silently to her.

"The things she said--you don't believe they're true?" she faltered.

"Don't speak of them.... You've piled up a debt on me more than I can ever repay. You've freed my hands to fight down Larssen, but at what a cost to yourself?"

"Then it's freed you?"

"Absolutely. The divorce was Larssen's trump-card. You've fought for me far better than I could ever have fought for myself. To think of you lying there helpless, and yet battling for me! My G.o.d, but at what a cost to yourself!"

"If it's freed you, dear John, nothing else matters."

"It has. Now I can smash Larssen's scheme.... But what of you, what of you?"

"We must part--now," she murmured.

"Why now?"

"Don't ask me to explain."

Riviere clenched his hand. "Yes, you're right," he said after a pause.

"We must part--for a time."

"It will be best for both of us. You must go back to your world."

"I'm wanted at Nimes a few days hence, to give evidence at the trial."

"Then leave Wiesbaden to-day."

"Give me till to-morrow near you."

"No, you must go to-day.... We'll say good-bye now."

She held out her hand, but he took her in his arms and kissed her pa.s.sionately.

"No--don't!"

"Forgive me--I'm a brute!"

"Dear John, go now. Don't stay. Go back to your world and fight your battle. I shall recover my sight--I feel that more strongly than ever. I shall need it if only to read your letters. Go now, and take with you my wishes for all happiness and all success in your life-work!"

Riviere tried to answer, but the words choked in his throat.

"Elaine!" was all he could utter.

That night he took train for Paris, to call on Barreze the manager of the Odeon Theatre.

There he fixed up an arrangement by which Barreze would send to Elaine, in the guise of payment for the uncompleted work she had done for him, a substantial sum of money. It was a temporary expedient only, but it would serve Riviere's purpose.

Then he proceeded to Nimes to attend the trial of the youth Crau.

CHAPTER x.x.x

HEIR TO A THRONE

The liner "Claudia" was ripping her way eastwards through a calm Atlantic, like shears through an endless length of blue muslin.

An unclouded morning sun beat full upon the pale cheeks and delicate frame of Larssen's little twelve-year-old son, alone with his father on their private promenade deck. The contrast between the broad frame of the shipowner and the delicate, nervous, under-sized physique of his boy was striking in its irony. Here was the strong man carving out an empire for his descendants, and here was his only son, the inheritor-to-be.

Neither physically nor mentally could Olaf ever be more than the palest shadow of his father, and yet Larssen was the only person who could not see this. He was trying to train his boy to hold an empire as though he were born to rule.

"How clever Mr Dean is!" Olaf was saying.

"Why?"

"Look at the set of wheels he's rigged up for me so as I can sail my boat on deck." He held up a beautiful model yacht, perfect in line and rig, with which he was playing. Underneath it was a crudely-made contrivance of wood and wire, with four corks for wheels--the handiwork of Arthur Dean.

"Was that your idea?" inquired Larssen.

"No, Dad.... Now, watch me sail her up to windward."

"Wait. You ought to have thought out that idea for yourself."

"I haven't any tools on board, Dad."

"Then go and make friends with the carpenter." Larssen took up the crude contrivance and looked it over contemptuously. "I want you to think out a better device; pitch this overboard; then find out where Mr Chips lives, make friends with him, and get him to construct you a proper set of wheels to your own design."

The boy looked troubled. "I don't want to throw it overboard!" he protested. "I want to sail my boat on deck now."

"Sonny, there are heaps of things that are good for you to do which you won't want to do. It's like being told by the doctor to take medicine.

It's nasty to take, but very good for you.... I want to see you one day a big strong fellow able to handle men and things--a great big strong fellow men will be afraid of. That's to be your ambition. You've got to learn to handle men and things. Here's one way to do it."

"But Mr Dean wouldn't like it if he knew I'd thrown his wheels overboard."

"Dean is a servant. He's paid to do things for you. His feelings don't matter.... But you needn't tell him you threw his wheels away. Say they slipped over the side. Now, get a pencil and paper, and let me see you work out a better contrivance."