"Léonie, he goes to-morrow."
"Très bien. Mais--sais-tu, ma chère, ce n'est pas convenable, ce que tu fais là!"
And the older woman, straightening herself, looked her foster-sister full in the face. A kind of watch-dog anxiety, a sulky, protesting affection breathed from her rugged features.
Julie went up to her, not angrily, but rather with a pleading humility.
The two women held a rapid colloquy in low tones--Madame Bornier remonstrating, Julie softly getting her way.
Then Madame Bornier returned to her work, and Julie went to the drawing-room.
Warkworth sprang up as she entered. Both paused and wavered. Then he went up to her, and roughly, irresistibly, drew her into his arms. She held back a moment, but finally yielded, and clasping her hands round his neck she buried her face on his breast.
They stood so for some minutes, absolutely silent, save for her hurried breathing, his head bowed upon hers.
"Julie, how can we say good-bye?" he whispered, at last.
She disengaged herself, and, seeing his face, she tried for composure.