ride to Belfort on
horseback, and join the old people there for the journey to
Paris.

So Lorraine turned back into the silent house, where the
furniture stood in its stiff, white dust-coverings, where cloths
covered candelabra and mirror, and the piano was bare of
embroidered scarfs.

She passed through darkened rooms, one after another, through the
long hall, where no servants remained, through the ballroom and
dining-room, and out into the conservatory, emptied of every
palm. She passed on across the interior court, through the
servants' wicket, and out to the stables. All the stalls save one
were empty. Faust stood in that one stall switching his tail and
peering around at her with wise, dark eyes. Then she kissed his
soft nose, and went sadly back to the house, only to roam over it
again from terrace to roof, never meeting a living soul, never
hearing a sound except when she passed the vicomte's suite, where
Madame de Morteyn and the maid were arranging last details and
the old vicomte lay asleep in his worn arm-chair.

There was one room she had not visited, one room in which she had
never set foot, never even peeped into. That was Jack's room. And
now, by an impulse she could not understand, her little feet led
her up the stairway, across the broad landing, through the
gun-room, and there to the door--his door. It was open. She
glided in.

There was a faint odour of tobacco in the room, a smell of leather,
too. That came from the curb-bit and bridle hanging on the wall, or
perhaps from the plastron, foils, and gauntlets over the mantle.
Pipes lay about in profusion, mixed with silver-backed brushes,
cigar-boxes, neckties, riding-crops, and gloves.

She stole on tiptoe to the bed, looked at her wide, bright eyes
in the mirror opposite, flushed, hesitated, bent swiftly, and
touched the white pillow with her lips.

For a second she knelt there where he might have knelt, morning
and evening, then slipped to her feet, turned, and was gone.

At sundown Jack returned, animated, face faintly touched with red
from his three-mile walk. He had seen the marquis; more, too, he
had seen the balloon--he had examined it, stood in the wicker
car, tested the aluminum screws. He brought back a message for
Lorraine, affectionate and kindly, asking for her return home
early the next morning.

"If we do not find you at Belfort to-morrow," said Madame de
Morteyn, seriously, "we shall not wait. We shall go straight on
to P