Marquis paused. Peter looked at him interrogatively.
"Why?" he asked.
"Because you are here," the Marquis affirmed. "Baron, I meant to speak to you about that man before we parted. There is no great work done without difficulties. The greatest difficulty you will have to face in your new life is that man. It is very possible that you may find within the course of a few months that your whole career, your very life, has developed into a duel à outrance with him."
They had turned again, and were once more in sight of the little group. Bernadine had thrown a loose overcoat over his tweed travelling clothes, and with a cigarette between his fingers was engaged in deferential conversation with the woman by his side. His servant stood discreetly in the background, talking to the other domestic—a sombrely clad young person carrying a flat jewel-case, obviously the maid of the young Frenchwoman.
"He is taking her across," the Marquis remarked. "It is not often that he travels like this. Perhaps he has heard that you are susceptible, my friend."
Peter shrugged his shoulders.
"The game is too young yet!" he declared.
"It is never too young for Bernadine to take a hand," the Marquis replied grimly. "Listen, de Grost. Bernadine will probably try to make friends with you. You may think it wise to accept his advances, you may believe that you can guard your own secrets in his company; perhaps, even, that you may learn his. Do not try it, my friend. You have received the best proof possible that we do not underrate your abilities, but there is no other man like Bernadine. I would not trust myself alone with him."
"You are taking it for granted," Peter interposed, "that our interests must be at all times inimical."
The Marquis laid his hand upon the other's arm.
"My friend," he said, "there are interests which are sometimes elastic, rapprochements which may vary between chilly friendliness and a certain intimacy. But between the interests of the Double Four and the interests represented by that young man there yawns the deepest gulf which you or any other man could conceive. Bernadine represents the Teuton—muscle and bone and sinew. He is German to the last drop of his heart's blood. Never undervalue him, I beseech you. He is not only a wonderful politician: he is a man of action, grim, unbending, unswerving as a man may be whose eyes are steadfastly fixed upon one goal. The friendships of France may sometimes change, but her one great enmity never. Bernadine represents that enmity. According to the measure of your success, so you will find him placid or venomous. Think of yourself as a monk, dear Baron, and Bernadine as the Devil Incarnate. From him there is safety only in absence."
Peter smiled as he shook hands with his companion and climbed into the train.
"At any rate," he said, "I have been warned."
During the journey to Boulogne, at least, the repeated warnings of the Marquis seemed quite unnecessary. Bernadine and his companion remained in their engaged carriage, and de Grost, who dined in the restaurant car and sauntered once or twice along the corridors, saw nothing of them. At Boulogne they stayed in their carriage until the rush on to the boat was over, and it was not until they were half-way across the Channel that Peter felt suddenly an arm thrust through his as he leaned over the rail on the upper deck. He moved instinctively away from the vessel's side, a proceeding which seemed to afford some amusement to the man who had accosted him.
"Monsieur le Baron," said Bernadine, "let me be the first to congratulate you upon your new dignity."
"Very kind of you, I am sure, Count von Hern," Peter answered.
"Bernadine to you, my friend," the other protested. "So you have come once more into the great game?"
Peter remained silent. His features had assumed an expression of gentle inquiry.
"Once more I congratulate you," Bernadine continued. "In the old days you were shrewd and successful in your small undertakings, but you were, after all, little more than a policeman. To-day you stand for other things."
"Monsieur le Comte talks in enigmas," Peter murmured.
Bernadine smiled.
"Cautious as ever!" he exclaimed. "Ah, my dear Baron, you amuse me, you and the elegant Sogrange—Sogrange, who will pull the strings to which you must dance. Do you think that I did not see you both upon the platform, gazing suspiciously at me? Do you think that I did not hear the words of warning you received as clearly as though I had been standing by your side? 'It is Bernadine!' Sogrange whispers. 'Bernadine and Mademoiselle Delucie—a dangerous couple! Have a care, Monsieur le Baron!' Oh, that is what passed, without a doubt! So when you take your place in the train you wrap yourself in an armour of isolation; you are ready all the time to repel some deep-laid scheme, you are relieved to discover that, so far, at any rate, this terrible Bernadine and his beautiful travelling companion have not forced themselves upon you. Is it not so?"
Peter shrugged his shoulders.
"It is the south wind," he remarked, "which carries us across so quickly to-night."
"The south wind, without a doubt," Bernadine assented politely. "Dear Baron, my congratulations are sincere. No one can come into the battlefield, the real battlefield of life, without finding enemies there waiting for him. You and I represent different causes. When our interests clash, I shall not try to throw you off a Channel boat, or to buy you with a cheque, or to hand you over to the tender mercies of the beautiful Mademoiselle Delucie. Until then, have no fear, my British friend. I shall not even ask you to drink with me, for I know that you would look suspiciously into the tumbler. Au revoir, and good fortune!"
Bernadine passed into the shadows and sank into a steamer chair by the side of his travelling companion. Peter continued his lonely walk, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his overcoat, his eyes fixed upon the Folkestone lights, becoming every moment clearer and clearer.
At Charing Cross all was as Sogrange had indicated. His servant remained to look after the luggage, a tall footman conducted him towards a magnificent automobile. Then, indeed, he forgot Bernadine and all this new stir of life—forgot everything in a sudden rush of joy. It was Violet who leaned forward to greet him—Violet, looking her best, and altogether at her ease amongst this new splendour.
"Welcome, Monsieur le Baron!" she whispered as he took his place by her side.
He took her hands and held them tightly, closely.
"I always knew," he murmured, "that you hankered after a title."
"Such a snob, aren't I!" she exclaimed. "Never mind, you wait!"
They were moving rapidly westward now. A full moon was shining down upon the city, the streets were thronged with pedestrians and a block of vehicles. The Carlton was all ablaze. In the softening light Pall Mall had become a stately thoroughfare, the Haymarket and Regent Street picturesque with moving throngs, a stream of open cabs, women in cool evening dresses, men without hats or overcoats, on their way from the theatres. It was a vivid, almost a fascinating little picture. Peter caught a glimpse of his wife's face as she looked upon it.
"I believe," he whispered, "that you are glad."
She turned upon him with a wonderful smile, the light flashing in her eyes.
"Glad! Oh, Peter, of course I am glad! I hated the country; I pined and longed for life. Couldn't
