General McGill had
said to her. "Warkworth will want all the powers he has--of mind
or body."

The slim, young fellow, so boyishly elegant in his well-cut
evening-dress, received the ovation offered to him with an evident
pleasure which tried to hide itself in the usual English ways. He had
been very pale when he came in. But his cheek reddened as Montresor
grasped him by the hand, as the two generals bade him a cordial
godspeed, as Sir Wilfrid gave him a jesting message for the British
representative in Egypt, and as the ladies present accorded him those
flattering and admiring looks that woman keeps for valor.

Julie counted for little in these farewells. She stood _apart_ and
rather silent. "_They_ have had their good-bye," thought the Duchess,
with a thrill she could not help.

"Three days in Paris?" said Sir Wilfrid. "A fortnight to Denga--and then
how long before you start for the interior?"

"Oh, three weeks for collecting porters and supplies. They're drilling
the escort already. We should be off by the middle of May."

"A bad month," said General Fergus, shrugging his shoulders.

"Unfortunately, affairs won't wait. But I am already stiff with
quinine," laughed Warkworth--"or I shall be by the time I get to Denga.
Good-bye--good-bye."

And in another moment he was gone. Miss Le Breton had given him her
hand and wished him "Bon voyage," like everybody else.

The party broke up. The Duchess kissed her Julie with peculiar
tenderness; Delafield pressed her hand, and his deep, kind eyes gave her
a lingering look, of which, however, she was quite unconscious; Meredith
renewed his half-irritable, half-affectionate counsels of rest and
recreation; Mrs. Montresor was conventionally effusive; Montresor alone
bade the mistress of the house a somewhat cold and perfunctory farewell.
Even Sir Wilfrid was a little touched, he knew not why; he vowed to
himself that his report to Lady Henry on the morrow should contain no
food for malice, and inwardly he forgave Mademoiselle Julie the old
romancings.

XVIII

It was twenty minutes since the last carriage had driven away. Julie was
still waiting in the little hall, pacing its squares of black-and-white
marble, slowly, backward and forward.

There was a low knock on the door.

She opened it. Warkworth appeared on the threshold, and the high moon
behind him threw a bright ray into the dim hall, where all but one faint
light had been extinguished. She pointed to t