She stopped short, seeing, doubtless, the pain of refusal in my face. “But, after all, it does not matter. I suppose your orders are formal?”
“Yes, madame.”
“Then it is a matter of honor?”
“A soldier is always on his honor; a soldier’s daughter will understand that.”
“I understand,” she said.
After a moment she smiled and moved forward, saying:
“How the world tosses us—flinging strangers into 47 each other’s arms, parting brothers, leading enemies across each other’s paths! One has a glimpse of kindly eyes—and never meets them again. Often and often I have seen a good face in the lamp-lit street that I could call out to, ‘Be friends with me!’ Then it is gone—and I am gone—Oh, it is curiously sad, Monsieur Scarlett!”
“Does your creed teach you to care for everybody, madame?”
“Yes—I try to. Some attract me so strongly—some I pity so. I think that if people only knew that there was no such thing as a stranger in the world, the world might be a paradise in time.”
“It might be, some day, if all the world were as good as you, madame.”