There was an answer in her silence.

"He writes to you. That means a great deal--a very great deal."

"What do you want from me?" cried the tortured girl.

"Reparation," was the grave answer.

"To----?"

"To Mrs Matheson--to his wife."

"What more can I do than I have done?"

"Doesn't your heart tell you?"

"I'm torn with----"

"With love for him. I know. I know. I'm asking from you the biggest sacrifice of all--for his sake and for her sake. While she lives, give her back what happiness you can," Larssen's voice had lowered almost to a whisper.

"What more can I do than I have done?"

"Much more. Write to Matheson definitely and finally. Send him back to his wife. She is to cruise on board the 'Starlight'--a yacht of mine--with my little son. Send Matheson to meet her on the yacht."

"And then?"

"Then they will come together again. I'm certain of it. I've seen Mrs Matheson and read the change in her feelings. She'll be a different woman now.... Can you see to write?"

"Yes--faintly."

"Then write to Matheson what your heart will dictate to you," said Larssen gently.

Presently he resumed: "Where is he now?"

"At Nimes."

"Ah, yes--the trial."

"It should be finished to-day."

"Then Matheson will probably be returning to London to see me. There's no need for him to hurry back. He could board the 'Starlight' at Boulogne or any other port he might prefer."

"Isn't May 3rd the day that ends your agreement?" asked Elaine.

"It is; but I'll extend that date." Larssen took from his pockets a fountain-pen and a sc.r.a.p of paper and scribbled a few words on it, signing his name underneath. "Suppose you enclose this when you're writing to Matheson? It extends our agreement until May 20th."

He pa.s.sed the paper to her.

The power of the human word, of the human voice--how limitless it is!

Larssen, master of word and voice, had Elaine convinced through and through of his sincerity in the matter of reconciling husband and wife.

He had appealed with unerring judgment to her finest feelings, and she read her own altruism into his words.

Larssen knew that his point was won, and long experience had taught him to close an interview as soon as he had carried conviction.

"I won't tire you any longer," he said, rising. "I just want to say this: you're _big_. You're the finer woman by far, but she is his wife."

CHAPTER x.x.xIV

ON BOARD THE "STARLIGHT"

The trial at Nimes proved a wearisome, sordid affair, and its result was a foregone conclusion. If there had been some motive of romantic jealousy on the part of the youth Crau, a French jury might have returned a sentimental verdict of acquittal. As it was, they found him guilty, and the judge sentenced him to three years penal servitude.

Riviere was heartily glad when the trial was over. It was now the end of April--close to the date of May 3rd, when the truce between Larssen and himself would expire. The shipowner would be back in London, and no doubt would have heard from Olive something of the changed situation.

Force of circ.u.mstance would make him readjust his att.i.tude, and he would probably be ready to offer compromise.

Riviere judged it advisable to return to England, and there to wait for overtures on the part of Larssen. He had taken ticket for London, and was preparing for travel, when two letters reached him, from Olive and Elaine.

The latter gave him a keen thrill of pleasure. It was written by Elaine herself, and this was proof indeed of the miracle of surgery wrought by Dr Hegelmann. But its contents made him very thoughtful. She was asking him to go back to his wife. She was pointing out to him a path of duty exceedingly hard to tread.

Olive's letter added further pressure on his feelings. She was advised to try a sea-voyage for her health, she told him; Larssen had placed his yacht at her disposal; she begged her husband to meet her at Boulogne and once more to give her a chance to explain. It was an appeal utterly different to the att.i.tude she had taken at Wiesbaden--there was now a sincerity in it which Riviere could not mistake.

The enclosure in Elaine's letter did not surprise him. If Larssen of his own accord offered to extend the truce until May 20th, it must mean that the shipowner was aware of his shaky position and ready to suggest compromise.

The effect of those three communications on Riviere's mind was what Larssen had so shrewdly planned. Riviere wired to his wife that he would meet her at Boulogne Harbour.

That evening he caught a Paris express with a through P.L.M. carriage for Boulogne. At the Gare de Lyon, in the early morning, they shunted him round the slow and tedious Girdle Railway to the Gare du Nord, clanked him on the boat train, and sped him northwards again in a revigorated burst of railway energy. North of Paris, a P.L.M. carriage undergoes a marked change of character. It deferentially subdues its nationality, and takes on an Anglo-American aspect. Harris-tweeded young men pitch golf-bags and ice-axes on the rack, and smoke bulldog pipes in its corridors with an air of easy proprietorship. American spinsters, scouring Europe in couples, order lunch in high-pitched American without troubling to translate. The few Frenchmen who find themselves in the train have almost the apologetic air of intruders.

While pa.s.sing through the corridor of a second-cla.s.s carriage, Riviere happened on the tubby little figure and rosy smiling countenance of Jimmy Martin the journalist. Martin never forgot a face or a name--it was part of his profession to make an unlimited acquaintanceship with everyone who might possibly "have a story to tell."

"Hail, sir!" said he cheerily. "You haven't forgotten the little sermon I had to preach to you on the infallibility of my owners, the _Europe Chronicle_?"

Riviere shook hands cordially. "I remember perfectly. You're going home on holiday, I expect?"

"I'm going home for good, praise be. I've sacked my owners. I told them that they were a set of unmitigated liars, scoundrels and bloodsuckers, and that I couldn't reconcile it with my conscience to work for them any longer without a 20 per cent. increase in pay. They demurred, and I promptly sacked them--having in my pocket an offer from a London paper.

Thus we combine valour with prudence--a mixture which is more colloquially known as 'business.'"

"What's your new post?"

"Reporter for the _London Daily Truth_. If you've a story to tell at any time, and want a platform to speak from, 'phone me up."

"Thanks; I will."

"I've been turning my think-tank on to the Hudson Bay Transport flotation. You certainly had some inside information on that deal. Why did it shut up with a snap, I ask myself. Who banged the lid down?"

Martin's effort to pump information was very transparent, but his infectious good humour made it impossible to take offence.