"You will understand strange things then," Roger
Audemard had said, and something in his voice had been like a key
unlocking mysterious doors for the first time. And then, "Wait, as
patiently as you can!" Out of the basket on the table seemed to
come to him a whispering echo of that same word--wait! He laid his
hands upon it, and a pulse of life came with the imagined
whispering. It was from Marie-Anne. It seemed as though the warmth
of her hands were still there, and as he removed the cloth the
sweet breath of her came to him. And then, in the next instant, he
was trying to laugh at himself and trying equally hard to call
himself a fool, for it was the breath of newly-baked things which
her fingers had made.
Yet never had he felt the warmth of her presence more strangely in
his heart. He did not try to explain to himself why Roger
Audemard's visit had broken down things which had seemed
insurmountable an hour ago. Analysis was impossible, because he
knew the transformation within himself was without a shred of
reason. But it had come, and with it his imprisonment took on
another form. Where before there had been thought of escape and a
scheming to jail Black Roger, there filled him now an intense
desire to reach the Yellowknife and the Chateau Boulain.
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