They halted their horses, looking over toward the western horizon and its mystery. "The star shines over their caravan," mused Madame de la Maine (Julia had not thought Thérèse poetical), "as though to lead them home."
Madame de la Maine turned her face and Julia saw tears in her eyes. The Frenchwoman's control was usually perfect, she treated most things with mocking gaiety. The bright softness of her eyes touched Julia.
"Thérèse!" exclaimed the American girl. "It is only fourteen days!"
Madame de la Maine laughed. There was a break in her voice. "Only fourteen days," she repeated, "and any one of those days may mean death!"
She threw back her head, touched her stallion, and flew away like light, and it was Julia who first drew rein.
"Thérèse! Thérèse! We can not go any farther!"
"Lady!" said Azrael. He drew his big black horse up beside them. "We must go back to the tents."
Madame de la Maine pointed with her whip toward the horizon. "It is cruel! It ever recedes!"
* * * * * * *
"Tell me, Julia, of Monsieur de Sabron," asked Madame de la Maine abruptly.