SHE SAID, "YES!"
Distinctly it was triumph that the eyes from the mirror reflected back
into Henriette's in her room. For dinner Henriette chose a gown which
she had not worn since Phil's arrival. She had kept it hanging in the
far corner of the closet, possibly owing to the fact that the cut was
the same as that of Helen's one dinner gown. Though made of richer
material than Helen's, it heightened the similarity of the two girls'
figures and emphasised the contrast between the beauty of the one and
the plainness of the other. Either seemed appropriate to its wearer;
to Henriette by right of her vivacious charm which was particularly in
evidence that evening, and to Helen by the predestination of nature.
Henriette talked of a visit to America; she would talk of nothing but
America. Her mother's shrewd little eyes hovered between her and Phil
questioningly, with a trace of frown at intervals.
"I shall claim you for a stroll in the garden," said Madame Ribot to
Phil after dinner, "and then I shall retire very early." She did not
say so, but she was going to pack some of her most precious things for
departure in case of necessity.
Phil had an idea that she wished to speak to him and to him alone of
something on her mind; he knew that he had something on his mind which
he would like to mention to her. They walked some distance along the
path in that silence which makes two people conscious of wanting to
know what it is that the other's hesitation prevents him from saying.
On this occasion it was never spoken; for Madame Ribot broke the
silence by remarking how extremely dark it was. The moon was behind a
cloud.
Then the war again! She mentioned a letter which she had received that
afternoon about the death of the son of an old friend. It was all very
terrible; the world would never be the same again. She hoped that they
were safe at Mervaux. Surely with the British and the Russians
fighting with the French there was no danger of another siege of Paris.
As they approached the house on their return, Phil saw a figure moving
along another path, so dim that it was hardly more than a shadow. Yet
it recalled to him with a thrill the Henriette with an appeal in her
eyes for an invitation to America. She was walking very slowly. The
moon showing a gleam of light as it passed between two clouds revealed
the figure with its head bowed and hands clasped behind, the face
indistinct. Was she thinking of what he was thinking?
When he said good-night at the door to Madame Ribot, he remarked that
it was too early to retire and he would take another stroll.
"I think you will find Henriette about the grounds somewhere," she
said. Phil caught himself starting at mention of the name. "Probably
Helen, too," she added.
"I'll look for them," he replied.
She smiled and nodded to herself, as he turned away; but the frown
which had shown itself on her brow at dinner returned and remained long
after she was in her room.
"If--if history should repeat itself!" she murmured.
Phil started up the path which the figure he was seeking had taken.
The moonbeams held until on a bench under a tree they revealed her with
head turned away and bent, still in thought.
"Hello!" he called, stooping to pass under the branches.
"Hello!" was the answer of surprise.
"Do I disturb a brown study?" he asked.
"Almost black in this darkness--no, not black--just human!" she
answered, without looking around.
Very sweet that voice in the darkness, resonant with fellowship. No
man ever knows why the impulse comes; but most men know the incident
that let it go. With Phil it was the voice associated with a face in
front of an easel. They had the night and the world to themselves,
there under the tree. He might best have made his speech looking into
her eyes under another tree where she was making a portrait; but it did
not happen that way, such things being always as they happen.
"I have something to say to you. Please listen!"
He was resting his knee against the bench and his hand pressed hard on
the bark of the tree as he confessed that he was past the point of
resisting what had seemed folly to him till hope had overcome judgment.
She was very still as she listened. Her silence had the effect of
urging him on. And he had the question fairly out, now. Was the call
of America strong enough to win her to go back to America with him?
Sudden and wild came the answer of, "Yes!" Then her hand with a
desperate quickness rose to her face which was still turned from him,
and she sprang to her feet and with a frightened cry disappeared into
the darkness.
Phil remained where he was, as inanimate as the tree itself. Yes--and
then flight! Yes, with the ring of life and passion in it--and then
flight!