"Good-bye forever, good-bye forever!
Good-bye, good-bye, good—bye—!"
She bowed her acknowledgments again and again, and when the clamour was over, he hastened into the little room behind the stage where she was putting on her wraps. She was alone but her carriage was waiting.
As he entered, she started in surprise, then held out her hand.
"Dear," he said, "if this is the end, won't you let me kiss you once for the sake of our old happiness? We were so much to each other—you and I. Even if you wouldn't wear the rose, won't you let me hold you just a minute as I used to do?"
"Wear the rose," she repeated, "what do you mean?"
"Didn't you see my card?"
"No," she answered, "I couldn't look at them—they are—La—France—you know—and——"
She reached out trembling fingers and found the card. She read the tender message twice—the little message which meant so much, then looked up into his face.
"If I could," she whispered, "I'd pin them all on."
Someway she slipped into her rightful place again, and very little was said as they rolled home. But when he lit the gas in his own room he saw something queer in the mirror, and found, clinging to his scarf-pin, the petal of a La France rose.