“For Mexico!” she repeated, mechanically.
“Of course. He has his commission in the army and leaves early in the morning. But you look tired, my dear. I declare you are quite pale”––pinching her cheek––“rest will bring back the roses, though.”
Impulsively she threw her arms around his neck.
“Why, why, what’s this?” he said, patting her head.
“I only care for you,” she whispered. “My dear! My dear!”
CHAPTER XI
THE PASSING OF A FINE GENTLEMAN
“‘Perhaps she will fail, and that will amuse me,’” ruminated François on his high seat next to the coachman, repeating the marquis’ words, as they drove home after the nobleman’s precipitous retreat from the theater. “Well, he didn’t look as though he had been particularly amused. But no wonder he was startled! It even”––reviewing the impression first made upon him at sight of the actress––“sent a shiver through me!” Here the carriage drew up sharply before the marquis’ home, and François, hastily alighting, threw open the door.