Letters continued to pour in; Mariette applied the plain-spoken, half-scornful arguments natural to a man holding a purely spiritual standard of life; and Elizabeth pleaded more by look and manner than by words.
Anderson held out as long as he could.

He was assaulted by that dark midway hour of manhood, that distrust of life and his own powers, which disables so many of the world's best men in these heightened, hurrying days.

But in the end his two friends saved him--as by fire.
Mariette himself dictated the telegram to the Prime Minister in which Anderson withdrew his resignation; and then, while Anderson, with a fallen countenance, carried it to the post, the French Canadian and Elizabeth looked at each other--in a common exhaustion and relief.
"I feel a wreck," said Elizabeth.

"Monsieur, you are an excellent ally." And she held out her hand to her colleague.

Mariette took it, and bowed over it with the air of a _grand seigneur_ of 1680.
"The next step must be yours, madam--if you really take an interest in our friend." Elizabeth rather nervously inquired what it might be.
"Find him a wife!--a good wife.