"Julien is here--is here! And does not know that I go to-morrow!"
But she put _to-morrow_ from her, and in the stillness she felt her
spirit smiling for pleasure in him. She had mourned him once; she never
would again.
In her pocket lay the key of the street door, and the curtain-cord, long
rotted and useless, dangled at her cheek. With a quick wrench she
brought its length tumbling beside her on the sill, then knotted it to
the key and let it down into the street.
The young man saw it hang before his eyes.
"Are you coming in?" said a voice above him. "Tea is ready."
"Fanny!"
"It has been ready for six weeks."
"Only wait--" He was trying the key in the door.
"What--still longer?" said the voice.
He was gone from the pavement, he had entered her house, he was on her
stair--the grey ghost of the soldier!
She had a minute's grace. Slipping her hand into the cupboard she drew
out another cup and saucer, and laid the table for two.
There was his face--his hands--at her door! But what a foreign grey
body!
"Come in, Ghost!" she said, and held out her hands--for now she cared at
least for "he who cared"--lest that, too, be lost! Does a ghost kiss?
Yes, sometimes. Sometimes they are ghosts who kiss.
"Oh, Fanny!" Then, with a quick glance at the table, "You are expecting
someone?"
"You.
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