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"Do you not understand, Rohan?" exclaimed Marcelle, terrified by her lover's look. "As you did not come, someone had to draw in your name. I did so, and you are now the King of the Conscripts, and this is your badge. Let me fasten it upon your breast!" In a moment her soft fingers attached the rosette to his jacket.
Still, owing to my trust in you, I clung to the frail hope that there might be some mistake, so, when they had gone, I telephoned the Central Hotel, and a clerk there assured me that Monsieur de Courtois was in bed and asleep. "What am I to say? Perhaps, silence is best. Marcelle and I are returning to my apartments in 59th Street. Please do not come there.
"It is incredible!" said Corporal Derval, handing the paper to the sergeant, with the look of amazement still on his face. "Rohan Gwenfern one!" shouted the sergeant, while Marcelle clung to her uncle, and hid her face upon his arm.
There was a peculiar aloofness about the girl which seemed to put almost a wall of defense around her. She was intensely interested in everything, one could see that plainly, except the other students, and it seemed as if she simply overlooked them. When Kit came down the staircase, she glanced into the library and saw Marcelle in there alone, bending down before the long wall bookcases.
Mackwayte's face creased its mask of paint into a thousand wrinkles. For, on seeing him, the dancer's face lighted up, and, running to him with hands outstretched, she cried: "Tiens! Monsieur Arthur!" while he ejaculated: "Why, it's little Marcelle!" But now the stage manager interposed. He whisked Madame's wrap off her with one hand and with the other, firmly propelled her on to the stage.
Cicely tore aside the paraffine paper, and found six great roses, each with a leafy stem half as long as Cicely herself. She caught them up in her arms and laid her face against their velvety petals. For a moment, as she stood with closed eyes, drinking in their summer fragrance, she could have almost believed she was back in the old garden. "Marcelle, dear," she murmured, "I can be brave now!
"You will go and see after it," repeated Aunt Roubert, "that will be very useless, for you will find no place to put it in; I have been over your abode, my poor child, and instead of a home I find a 'salon de theatre." "Why, aunt," exclaimed Marcelle, "how can you say so? Remi and his father have just been through the rooms, and are delighted with them!"
"I think you ought to preside, Kit," Charity said as she arranged the tea table more handily before the corner couch. "It's your party, and you ought to pour." "Takes too much concentration," Kit returned. "Anne'll help you. I want to have my mind perfectly clear to manage the thing. You see, Marcelle doesn't know a blessed thing about it yet, and there's no knowing how she'll take it.
"I remember," says I. "You side-tracked the lovely Marcelle for that little blonde from. Richmond, didn't you?" "A mere passing fancy," says Waddy, flushin' up. "Nothing serious. She was really engaged all the time to Bent Hawley. They're to be married next month, I hear. But Marcelle! She has come.
But my own view is that 1000 59th Street is the last place anyone will think of watching to-night." "Shall I go at once, your ladyship?" said Marcelle, and Hermione said "Yes," with a meekness that was admirable in a wife. Curtis looked at his pretty bride's hat. "I have ordered a meal," he said. "It will be served in a few minutes."
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