Then she remembered that Colonel Le Breton's son was out there fighting against his own people. If, indeed, he were still left alive to fight.
Her lips moved in silent prayer.
She kissed the faded, scented sheets and tucked them against her heart. She was not going to fail Annette. All she wanted now was to be at the side of the dead girl's son, to help him to build up a new character according to the best white codes and standards.
Then she sat on, listening to the battle that raged around the desert city.
If Raoul Le Breton were spared, there was another battle before her—a battle with two governments for his life. But she had not many qualms about the result, with Annette's letter, her own wealth, and her father on her side; as he would be, once she had explained the situation.
Morning dragged on into afternoon, and the sound of the conflict died down somewhat.
All at once, as if muffled by distance, she heard her lover's voice calling hoarsely:
"Pansy."
She started to her feet.
Before she could answer, there was a sound of fighting just beyond her quarters.