He could not say enough about it.

He pictured Louis again and again as Kit's lover, as our old friend, our companion; as true, staunch, brave without fear, without reproach: and it was long before his eyes ceased to sparkle, his tongue to run merrily, the colour to mantle in his cheeks--long that is as time is counted by minutes.

But presently the remembrance of Louis' danger and our own position returned more vividly.

Our plan for rescuing him had failed--failed! "No! no!" cried Croisette, stoutly.

He would not hear of it.