"Ah, here you are at last!" said his grandmother, laying down her book. "I was just thinking how delightful it must be to be young and not to dread the dew. But I fear that we shall not welcome Avoye to-night now."
"No, I do not think that she will come to-night," answered Aymar without looking at her. "And, if she does I shall not see her, for I must rejoin my men without a moment's delay. I have come to take leave of you, Grand'mère; Hirondelle is at the door."
"What!" exclaimed Mme de la Rocheterie. "Is there anything wrong?" But she saw in an instant that there was; at least, that he was holding down some very strong emotion. And he was in uniform again.
"I hope not. Not if I go back at once. Good-bye, Grand'mère." He took her hand and lifted it to his cold lips.
"But, Aymar," she said, roused to real concern, "you have been in the saddle all day—you ate no supper. You cannot ride straight back to the Bois des Fauvettes—you will kill yourself!"
"I trust not to go as far as that!" he answered. "When—when Avoye comes, tell her I had to go."
"That is a pity," said the old lady, suddenly moved with sympathy; he looked so horribly pale and drawn. "I hope, mon fils, that your bad news is unfounded?"
"I hope so, too," said Aymar, and was gone from the room.
And when his grandmother, her book on her knee, heard Sarrasin's dismal howling in the hall, she knew that he was gone from Sessignes altogether.