And it was not Ricardo alone who was moved by it.

A voice of despair rang through the room.

The voice was Harry Wethermill's, and his face was ashy white.
"Monsieur!" he cried, "I do not know what makes you shudder; but I am remembering a few words you used this morning." Hanaud turned upon his heel.

His face was drawn and grey and his eyes blazed.
"My friend, I also am remembering those words," he said.

Thus the two men stood confronting one another, eye to eye, with awe and fear in both their faces.
Ricardo was wondering to what words they both referred, when the sound of wheels broke in upon the silence.