THE ROAD TO LIBERTY . 
me. I — I think that I went mad. 1 ran out 
into the fields and I hid. That night I walked 
miles and miles and miles. I came to Hyeres 
in the morning. There was an old servant 
here. I found her house. She was very 
poor, but she took me in. She lets lodgings 
to the people who come here to perform. 
This man was staying there, and the girl 
who travels with him was ill. On Monday 
I — I took her place. I earn a little. I have 
no money. I cannot be dependent upon 
Aline.” 
She looked at him with trembling lips. He 
patted her hand. 
f< My dear child,” he said, “ it — you did 
right, of course ; but it is not a fit life for you.” 
She was suddenly graver and older. 
u Will you tell me how in this world I am 
to live, then ? ” she asked. 
He led her away to a table and ordered 
some coffee. The performance was over. 
She was sitting there only to listen to the 
music. He talked to her seriously for a 
time. There were no other relatives, not a 
friend in the world. 
“ Monsieur Arleman,” she explained, “ has 
been ill ever since that night, but he has sworn 
that he will find me. My father doesn’t care. 
He has his coffee, his brandy, his (Ujeuner ; 
he dines and reads — nothing else. He never 
cared. But, oh, I am terrified of Monsieur 
Arleman ! Why do you look so gravely, 
Monsieur Londe ? ” she whispered, leaning 
across the table towards him. “ Say that 
you are glad to see me, please 1 ” 
“ I cannot quite tell you how glad,” he said. 
He was on the point of telling her that he 
had come back to Hyeres only to catch a 
glimpse of her, but he held his peace. 
“ I only regret,” he added, “ that you 
should have had to take up work like this. 
There are other things.” 
“ There is one thing only I can do,” she 
cried. “ Jean ! ” 
She called to the violinist. He came across, 
bowing and smiling. She took the violin from 
his hand and commenced to play. Her eyes 
were half closed. 
“ They let me do this,” she murmured. 
“ Listen. I will play to you.” 
When she had finished many of the people 
had gathered around. Londe slipped a five- 
franc piece into the hand of the violinist. 
“ I see now, little girl,” he said, “ the way 
out. I am going back with you to your 
lodgings. I am going to talk to Aline. After- 
wards we shall see.” 
She left him on the platform at the Gare 
Vol. *lvi. — 21 
163 
du Nord three weeks later. She was placed 
with a highly respectable French family. 
She was a pupil at the Conservatoire, with her 
fees paid for two years and the remainder of 
Londe’s thousand pounds in the bank. She 
took his hand and the tears came into her 
eyes. 
“If only you had not to go ! ” she whis- 
pered, clinging to him. “ You have been so 
good, so dear, and you won’t even let me love 
you ; you won’t let me tell you that there 
isn’t anything else in the world like even my 
thoughts of you.” 
He kissed her lightly on both cheeks. 
“ Little girl,” he said, “ it is well that you 
should love your guardian. Remember that 
I am old, and married, and a very impossible 
person. The little I have done for you is 
absolutely nothing compared with the many 
things I have done wrong or have left undone. 
Mind, I shall return some day soon to hear 
you play.” 
The train bore him back to London. He 
sat in his rooms that night and reviewed his 
position. His little income, such as it was, 
w r as gone now for good. He had twenty- 
four pounds left in the world. He went 
to see his lawyer the next morning. 
“ And when,” the old gentleman asked, 
kindly, “ do you start for Australia ? ” 
Londe, when he had signed all the papers 
which were laid before him, held out his 
hand to the lawyer. 
“ Mr. Ronald,” he said, “ shake hands with 
me for the last time. When you have heard 
my news I am afraid you will have finished 
with me. I am not going to emigrate at all.” 
The lawyer’s face fell. 
“ The fact is,” Londe continued, “ I have 
spent that thousand pounds you sent me to 
Paris.” 
“ Spent it ? ” the lawyer gasped. 
u I have either gambled with it or invested 
it,” Londe sighed. “ I can’t tell which. 
That is on the knees of the gods. I have 
twenty pounds left, and I am off to the States 
— steerage — on Saturday. I am going to see 
my wife and find work out there, if I can.” 
“ Gambled with it or invested it ? ” the 
lawyer repeated, puzzled. 
Londe nodded. “ Very likely,” he said, 
“ I shall never know which myself.” 
When, two years later, Londe found himself 
once more in Paris, a strange servant opened 
the door of the little French pension in the 
Rue de Castelmaine. She shook her head at 
Londe’s inquiry. Mile. Felice was certainly 
not amongst the inmates of the pension* 
