“Attendre” he said finally.  The driver adjusted his register and settled back to wait.  Then Chase mounted the steps and lifted the knocker with trembling fingers.  He was dizzy with eagerness, cold with uncertainty.

She had asked him to come to her—­but conditions were not the same as when she sent the compelling message.  There had come into her life a vital break, a change that altered everything.  What was it to mean to him?

He stood a moment later in the salon of the old Flaurebert palace, vaguely conscious that the room was darkened by the drawn blinds, and that it was cool and sweet to his senses.  He knew that she was coming down the broad hallway—­he could hear the rustle of her gown.  Inconsequently he was wondering whether she would be dressed in black.  Then, to his humiliation, he remembered that he was wearing uncouth, travel-soiled garments.

She was dressed in white—­a house gown, simple and alluring.  There was no suggestion of the coronet, no shadow of grief in her manner as she came swiftly toward him, her hands extended, a glad light in her eyes.

The tall man, voiceless with emotion, clasped her hands in his and looked down into the smiling, rapturous face.

“You came!” she said, almost in a whisper.

“Yes.  I could not have stayed away.  I have just heard that you—­you are free.  You must not expect me to offer condolences.  It would be sheer hypocrisy.  I am glad—­God, I am glad!  You sent for me—­you sent the yacht, Genevra, before—­before you were free.  I came, knowing that you belonged to another.  I find you the same as when I knew you first—­when I held you in my arms and heard you say that you loved me.  You do not grieve—­you do not mourn.  You are the same—­my Genevra—­the same that I have dreamed of and suffered for all these months.  Something tells me that you have descended to my plane.  I will not kiss you, Genevra, until you have promised to become my wife.”

She had not taken her eyes from his white, intense face during this long summing-up.

“Hollingsworth, I cannot, I will not blame you for thinking ill of me,” she said.  “Have I fallen in your eyes?  I wanted you to be near me.  I wanted you to know that when the courts freed me from that man that I would be ready and happy to come to you as your wife.  I am not in mourning to-day, you see.  I knew you were coming.  As God is my witness, I have no husband to mourn for.  He was nothing to me.  I want you for my husband, dearest.  It was what I meant when I sent out there for you—­that, and nothing else.”