And then the War, the short month of long, long days in the apartment on the avenue des Champs-Elysées, waiting, waiting, while the earth trembled to the tramp of armed men and the tireless rumbling of caissons and camions, and the air was vibrant with the savage dialogue of cannon, ever louder, daily more near....
She fell silent, sitting with bowed head and gaze remote.
From the splendid jewels that adorned the fingers twisting together in her lap, the firelight struck coruscant gleams.
"Now I hate Paris, I wish never to see it again."
Duchemin uttered a sympathetic murmur.
"But New York--?"
"Ah, but sometimes I think I would give anything to be there once more!"
The animation with which this confession was delivered proved transient.
"Then I remind myself I have no one there--a few friends, yes, acquaintances; but no family ties, no one dear to me."
"But--pardon--you stay here?"