“Yes,” said mademoiselle at length; “it would be well to do that.”
And Denise went away to write the letter that Lory had asked for in case she wanted him. She did not show it to Mademoiselle Brun, but went out and posted it herself in the little square box, painted white, affixed to the white wall on the high-road, and just within sight of Olmeta. When she returned she went into the garden again, where she spent so great a part of these hot days that her face was burnt to a healthy brown, which was in keeping with her fearless eyes and carriage. Mademoiselle Brun, on the other hand, spent most of her days indoors, divining perhaps that Denise had of late fallen into an unconscious love of solitude.
Denise returned to the house at luncheon-time, entered by the window, and caught Mademoiselle Brun hastily shutting an atlas.
“I was wondering,” she said, “where Saarbrück might be, and whether any one we know had time to get there before the battle.”
“Yes.”
“But Colonel Gilbert will tell us.”
“Colonel Gilbert?” inquired Denise, turning rather sharply.
“Yes. I think he will come to-day or to-morrow.”
And Mademoiselle Brun was right. In the full heat of the afternoon the great bell at the gate gave forth a single summons; for the colonel was always gentle in his ways.
“I made an opportunity,” he said, “to escape from the barracks this hot day.”