"And will he heed the message? Will he come ashore at a word fromme--only Barlasch? Remember it is his life that he carries inside hisarm. An English sailor with a French name! Thunder of thunder!They would shoot him like a rat!"

Desiree shook her head; but Barlasch was not to be denied. Hebrought pen and ink from the dresser, and pushed them across thetable.

"I would not ask it," he said, "if it was not necessary. Do youthink he will mind the danger? He will like it. He will say to me,'Barlasch, I thank you.' Ah? I know him. Write. He will come."

"Why?" asked Desiree.

"Why? How should I know that? He came before when you asked him."

Desiree leant over the table and wrote six words:

"Come, if you can come safely."

Barlasch took up the paper, and, pushing up the bandage which hadserved to bring him unharmed through Russia, he frowned at itwithout comprehending.

"It is not all writings that I can read," he admitted. "Have yousigned it?"

"No."