"The American girls are very imaginative," said Julia Redmond. "We must have some romance in all we do."
"I find the American girls very charming," said Tremont.
"Do you know many, Monsieur?"
"Only one," he said serenely.
Miss Redmond changed the subject quickly and cleverly, and before he knew it, Tremont was telling her stories about his own military service, which had been made in Africa. He talked well and entertained them both, and Julia Redmond listened when he told her of the desert, of its charm and its desolation, and of its dangers. An hour passed. The Marquise d'Esclignac took an ante-prandial stroll, Mimi mincing at her heels.
"Ce pauvre Sabron!" said Tremont. "He has disappeared off the face of the earth. What a horrible thing it was, Mademoiselle! I knew him in Paris; I remember meeting him again the night before he left the Midi. He was a fine fellow with a career before him, his friends say."
"What do you think has become of Monsieur de Sabron?"
Miss Redmond, so far, had only been able to ask this question of her aunt and of the stars. None of them had been able to tell her. Tremont shrugged his shoulders thoughtfully.
"He may have dragged himself away to die in some ambush that they have not discovered, or likely he has been taken captive, le pauvre diable!"
"France will do all it can, Monsieur..."