“No, Madame,” frankly said Hawke. “There is all manner of official junketing on here now. I am not, of course, to be officially included, as I am not on the staff of either the visiting or commanding general. I must wait until I am invited--if I am!” he hesitatingly said. “You know that my rank is--to say the least--shadowy!” The lady passed over this semi-confession in silence. “It is not like Johnstone to let Nadine meet all the gay coterie which will fill the great halls,” mused Madame Delavigne. “I suppose that the dear child will have a week of ‘marble prison’ in her rooms, with only the governess. I think I shall let General Abercrornby leave before I call. What do you advise? Johnstone has always ignored the ladies of Delhi!” “I really am powerless to counsel you,” said Major Hawke gravely, “as I am outside of the circle. I would watch this man keenly. He bears you no good will. And now--what shall I do? Did your business at Calcutta bring me the summons to action?” There was no undue eagerness in his voice. He was gliding into a safe position for the future eclaircissement. “Not yet. But it will come! It will come--as soon as this General goes. For I now will demand the right to drop Berthe Louison, and to be my own self. To be Alixe Delavigne to one bright, loving human soul only, in this land of arid solitudes, of peopled wastes. The land of the worn, scarred human nature, which, blind, creedless, and hopeless, staggers along under the burden of misery under the menace of the British bayonet.” “When do you leave it?” quietly asked the cautious Major. “When my work is done!” the resolute woman replied. “I am here for peace or war! We have only crossed swords! I do not trust this man a moment! He is capable of any foul deed! Now, you must keenly watch the clubs, the social life. Find out all you can! Come to me here every night at ten. If I suddenly need you, then I will send Ram Lal!” “By day or night I am ready!” gravely said Major Hawke. “I do not like to intrude upon you,” he hesitatingly said. “You will win your spurs yet in my service!” said Alixe. “The real struggle is to come yet. I am only knocking at the door of Nadine’s heart. And the old nabob is but half conquered.” Major Hawke, with a bow, retired and wended his way to the Club, where he spent an hour in preparing a careful letter to Euphrosyne Delande. It was a careful document, intended to prudently open communication with Justine through the Halls of Learning on the Rue du Rhone, Geneva, but a little sealed inclosure to Justine was the grain of gold in all the complimentary chaff. “Her own heart, poor girl, will tell her what to do,” said Hawke, as he departed and registered the letter himself. The passing cortege of General Abercromby, returning the visit of the local chief, excited Hawke’s attention. He caught a glimpse of the silver-haired millionaire whom two widely different natures had denounced that day as “being capable of anything.”