Horatia did not answer this time, for she found she could not.
Armand stopped fanning. "I shall have only this to remember you by, for I mean to keep it," he said, looking down at the painted ivory in his hand. "Mais il suffira. Yes, I hear them, the violins; il faut s'en aller: il faut se dire adieu.... Nous ne danserons plus ensemble ... Adieu, adieu, toute belle, adieu pour jamais!"
He crushed her hands fiercely to his lips. Her head whirled a second; then she tore them away.
"Please go ... ask Papa to come and fetch me here ... I will not go back into the room...."
He looked at her strangely, almost wildly, but she would not meet his eyes. "Please go," she reiterated faintly, and Armand, suddenly dropping on one knee, put his lips to the hem of her dress—and was gone.
And loud through the strains of The New-Rigged Ship, now pouring under the archway, she heard the heartless marching beat of Joli Tambour.
"Dans mon pays, y'en a de plus jolies,
Dans mon pays, y'en a de plus jolies,
Et ran, tan, plan!"
Mr. Grenville hurried in almost immediately, his daughter's cloak on his arm. Horatia was lying back in a big leather chair. She looked curiously white, but roused at once.
"Is that my cloak? Thank you, Papa, very much. It is time to go, is it not, though it is not quite over."
"That is what I was thinking, my dear," said the Rector, putting the swansdown over her. "I believe we have been keeping Dawes waiting. Have you got everything—your gloves, your fan?"