onged-for moment and tell you so in earnest.
Juliette, bring me a letter you will find upon my toilet-table, and call
Sardou.'

Juliette tripped out like a stage soubrette, demurely pert from crown
to sole. Possibly--just possibly--she guessed; probably she guessed
nothing. The suggestion was no more than a suggestion in the mind of the
watcher of all these bygone scenes.

Paul rose, but Gertrude waved him back.

'Not yet,' she whispered, 'not yet.'

He sat down again, his senses all awhirl with the aching desire he had
to hold her in his arms.

'You must not allow Sardou's masterpiece to grow cold,' said Gertrude;
and Juliette came tripping back again, with the grave man at her heels.
'You will take this to the post,' said Madame la Baronne, indicating
the letter on the salver the maid carried. 'You will see it registered
personally, and bring me the receipt.'

The grave man bowed, and retired, letter in hand.

'You like your coffee, Mr. Armstrong? And, oh, Juliette, bring to me
that last little portfolio of watercolour drawings. You know where you
will find them?'

'But, yes, Madame la Baronne, but they were locked in the escritoire.'

'You will find the key,' said the Baroness, sipping her coffee, 'in my
purse. Make haste, for M. Armstrong has but a moment to spare.'

Juliette ran with a swirl of petticoats upstairs. Gertrude followed the
footsteps with alert ear and eye. Ear and eye alike seemed to listen.
She rose to her feet and stretched her arms with an imploring gesture.

'Does this make amends to you?' she murmured. 'To me it atones for all'

'No, no; be careful Mind my hair, you silly darling--mind my hair! Shall
you be content to wait for this just now and then? Oh, Paul, Paul, Paul!
how hard it is! Go now--go. Quickly! Sip your coffee, Paul, and try to
look as little unnatural as you can. She is quicker than I fancied.
I've always a cigar to offer a departing breakfast guest. Juliette, the
cigars.'

Juliette laid down the small portfolio she carried, and pricked away a
third time.

'You love me?' he said hoarsely.

The sound of his own voice was in his ears, after everything that had
happened.

'I adore you!'she responded. 'You know it all now. But duty calls you
one way and me another. And oh, Paul, "of love that never found its
earthly close, what sequel?"'

'The very words,' he cried, 'that ticked in my brain all night'

'You must look at the portfolio,' she murmured. 'Est tu conte