“Oh, the army—horses—something of that kind. Riding-master, perhaps—perhaps Scotland Yard. I may not be able to pick and choose.... If I ever save enough money for the voyage, perhaps you would let me come, once in a long while, to pay my respects, madame?”
“Yes,... come, if you wish.”
She said no more, nor did I. Presently Sylvia appeared with a peasant woman, and the young countess 330 went away, followed by the housekeeper with her keys at her girdle.
I rose and walked to the window; then, nerveless and depressed, I went out into the garden again to smoke a cigar.
The cat had disappeared; I traversed the garden, passed through the side wicket, and found myself on the cliffs. Almost immediately I was aware of a young girl, a child, seated on the rocks, her chin propped on her hands, the sea-wind blowing her curly elf-locks across her cheeks and eyes. A bundle tied in a handkerchief lay beside her; a cat dozed in her lap, its sleek fur stirring in the wind.
“Jacqueline!” I said, gently.
She raised her head; the movement awakened the cat, who stood up in her lap, stretching and yawning vigorously.
“I thought you were to sail from Lorient to-day?”
The cat stopped purring from her knees; the child rose, pushing back her hair from her eyes with both hands.
“Where is Speed?” she asked, drowsily.