den of the ghastly monotone
was in her brain, her tired heart kept beating out the cadence
that her little slippered feet echoed along the gravel--War! war!

At the foot of the steps which skirted the terrace she met her
brother and Lorraine watching the groom rubbing down the
messengers' horses. A lantern, glimmering on the ground, shed a
sickly light under their eyes.

"Dorrie," said Jack, "Sir Thorald and Lady Hesketh think that we all
should start for Paris by the early train. They have already sent
some of our trunks to Saint-Lys; Mademoiselle de Nesville"--he
turned with a gesture almost caressing to Lorraine--"Mademoiselle
de Nesville has generously offered her carriage to help transport
the luggage, and she is going to wait until it returns."

"And uncle--and our aunt De Morteyn?"

"I shall stay at Morteyn until they decide whether to close the
house and go to Paris or to stay until October. Dorrie, dear, we
are very near the frontier here."

"There will be no invasion," said Lorraine, faintly.

"The Rhine is very near," repeated Dorothy. She was thinking of
Rickerl.

"So you and Betty and Cecil," continued Jack, "are to go with the
Heskeths to Paris. Poor little Alixe is crying her eyes out
up-stairs. She and Barbara Lisle are going to Cologne, where
Ricky will either find them or have his father meet them."

After a moment he added, "It seems incredible, this news. They
say, in the village, that the King of Prussia insulted the French
ambassador, Count Benedetti, on the public promenade of Ems. It's
all about that Hohenzollern business and the Spanish succession.
Everybody thought it was settled, of course, because the Spanish
ambassador said so, and Prince Leopold von Hohenzollern withdrew
his claim. I can't understand it; I can scarcely believe it."

Dorothy stood a moment, looking at the stars in the midnight
sky. Then she turned with a sigh to Lorraine.

"Good-night," she said, and they kissed each other, these two
young girls who an hour before had been strangers.

"Shall I see you again? We leave by the early train," whispered
Dorothy.

"No--I must return when my carriage comes back from the village.
Good-by, dear--good-by, dear Dorothy."

A moment later, Dorothy, flinging her short ermine-edged cloak
from her shoulders, entered the empty ballroom and threw herself
upon the gilded canape.

One by one the candles spluttered, glimmered, flashed up, and
went out, leaving a trail of smoke