"Eh, I thought he is dead!" cried Madame de Vaurigard.

"The father is. I mean, little Cooley."

"Oh, yes," she laughed softly. "We had some gay times, a little party
of us. We shall be happy here, too; you will see. I mus' make a little
dinner very soon, but not unless you will come. You will?"

"Do you want me very much?"

He placed his empty cup on the table and leaned closer to her, smiling.
She did not smile in response; instead, her eyes fell and there was the
faintest, pathetic quiver of her lower lip.

"Already you know that," she said in a low voice.

She rose quickly, turned away from him and walked across the room to the
curtains which opened upon the hall. One of these she drew back.

"My frien', you mus' go now," she said in the same low voice. "To-morrow
I will see you again. Come at four an' you shall drive with me--but
not--not more--_now_. Please!"

She stood waiting, not looking at him, but with head bent and eyes
veiled. As he came near she put out a limp hand. He held it for a few
seconds of distinctly emotional silence, then strode swiftly into the
hall.

She immediately let the curtain fall behind him, and as he got his