Out on the roadside they saw him swing up behind the soldier cyclist. A moment later there was only a trail of dust hanging along an empty road.
But Halkett had not yet done with Saïs. At the school he dismounted and ascended the steps.
The schoolroom was empty, the place very still. From a distance came the voices of children. It was the hour of their noonday recreation.
He entered the quiet schoolroom. On the desk stood a vase of white clove pinks. He took one, inhaled its fragrance, touched it to his lips, turned to the door, and suddenly flushed to the roots of his hair.
Sister Eila, on the doorstep, turned her head and looked steadily at the soldier cyclist for a moment. But a moment was enough.
Yet, still looking away from Halkett, she said in her serene young voice:
"Your uniform tells me your errand, Monsieur Halkett. You have come for your papers."
"If I may trouble you——" His voice and manner were stiff and constrained.
She let her eyes rest on him for a moment:
"A British uniform is pleasant to see in France," she said. "One moment——" She stepped past him and entered the schoolroom. "I shall bring you your papers."