And the baroness, looking at that still face, laughed her gay little inconsequent laugh.
A carriage was waiting for them in the shade of the trees on the market-place, its smart horses and men forming a strong contrast to the untidy town and slip-shod idlers. As usual, a game of bowls was in progress, and absorbed all the attention of the local intelligence.
“We have half an hour through the pine trees,” said the baroness, settling herself energetically on the cushions. “And, do you know, I am thankful to see you. I thought you would be prevented coming.”
She glanced at Denise as she spoke, and with a suddenly grave face, leant forward, and whispered—
“The news is bad—the news is bad. All this has been organized by Lory and my husband, who told me, in so many words, that they must have us where they can find us at a moment's notice. In case—ah, mon Dieu! I do not know what is going to happen to us all.”
“Then are we to be moved about, like ornaments, from one safe place to another?” asked Denise, with a laugh which was not wholly spontaneous.
“I have never been treated as an ornament yet,” put in Mademoiselle Brun, “and it is perhaps rather late to begin now.”
Denise looked at her inquiringly.
“Yes,” said the little woman, quietly. “I am going to the war—if Jane will take care of you while I am away.”
“And why should not I go too?” asked Denise.