“It was the sacred call of the war-trumpet. Did you notice how he answered to it? Poor fellow! Let’s look at him,” said the Keneu.
The excitement of the talk had died away. Dick was sitting by the studio table, with his head on his arms, when the men came in. He did not change his position.
“It hurts,” he moaned. “God forgive me, but it hurts cruelly; and yet, y’know, the world has a knack of spinning round all by itself. Shall I see Torp before he goes?”
“Oh, yes. You’ll see him,” said the Nilghai.
CHAPTER XIII
The sun went down an hour ago,
I wonder if I face towards home;
If I lost my way in the light of day
How shall I find it now night is come?
—Old Song.
“Maisie, come to bed.”
“It’s so hot I can’t sleep. Don’t worry.”
Maisie put her elbows on the window-sill and looked at the moonlight on the straight, poplar-flanked road. Summer had come upon Vitry-sur-Marne and parched it to the bone. The grass was dry-burnt in the meadows, the clay by the bank of the river was caked to brick, the roadside flowers were long since dead, and the roses in the garden hung withered on their stalks. The heat in the little low bedroom under the eaves was almost intolerable. The very moonlight on the wall of Kami’s studio across the road seemed to make the night hotter, and the shadow of the big bell-handle by the closed gate cast a bar of inky black that caught Maisie’s eye and annoyed her.
“Horrid thing! It should be all white,” she murmured. “And the gate isn’t in the middle of the wall, either. I never noticed that before.”