"I must go away," she murmured.
"Where, dearest?"
"Anywhere--oh, anywhere!"
"I know, dear, believe me, I know, but it never does any good to run away
from things that must be faced sooner or later. We women have our
battles to fight as well as the men who go to war, and the same truth
applies to both--that only a coward will retreat under fire."
Rose sighed and clenched her hands together tightly.
"Once there was a ship," said Madame, softly, "sinking in mid-ocean,
surrounded by fog. It had drifted far out of its course, and collided
with a derelict. The captain ordered the band to play, the officers put
on their dress uniforms and their white gloves. Another ship, that was
drifting, too, signalled in answer to the music, and all were saved."
"That was possible--but there can be no signal for me."
"Perhaps not, but let's put on our white gloves and order out the band."
The unconscious plural struck Rose with deep significance. "Did you--
know, Aunt Francesca?"
"Yes, dear."
"For how long?"
"Always, I think."
"Did it seem--absurd, in any way?"
"Not at all.
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