“I shall notify you, General, when my preparations are made; in the meantime here is your rose; and would not my new yacht do for the journey?”
So, jesting and questioning, she accepted his arm and made the circle of the rooms. Everywhere they heard fragments of the same topic. Americans were there from both sections. She saw a pretty woman from Alabama nod and smile, but put her hands behind her when a hitherto friendly New Yorker gave her greeting.
“We women can’t do much to help,” she declared, in those soft tones of the South, “but we can encourage our boys by being pronounced in our sympathies. I certainly shall not shake hands with a Northerner who may march with the enemy against our men; how can I?”
“Suppose we talk it over and try to find a way,” he suggested. Then they both smiled and passed on together. Judithe de Caron found herself watching them with a little ache in her heart. She could see they were almost, if not 109 quite, lovers; yet all their hopes were centered on opposite victories. How many––many such cases there must be!
Before spring had merged into summer, a lady, veiled, and giving no name, was announced to the Marquise. Rather surprised at the mysterious call, she entered the reception room, and was again surprised when the lifted veil disclosed the handsome face of the octoroon, Kora.
She had lost some of her brilliant color, and her expression was more settled, it had less of the butterfly brightness.
“You see, Madame, I have at last taken you at your word.”
The Marquise, who was carefully noting the alteration in her, bowed, but made no remark. The face of the octoroon showed uncertainty.
“Perhaps––perhaps I have waited too long,” she said, and half rose.