She had been so thoroughly the American girl that she had thought of nothing but going. She threw her arms around her aunt's neck with an abandon that made the latter young again. The Marquise d'Esclignac kissed her niece tenderly. "Madame la Marquise, Monsieur le Duc de Tremont is at the telephone," the servant announced to her from the doorway. CHAPTER XV JULIA'S ROMANCE From her steamer chair the Marquise d'Esclignac asked: "Are you absorbed in your book, Julia?" Miss Redmond faintly smiled as she laid it down. She was absorbed in but one thing, morning, noon and night, waking or sleeping: when and where she should find him; how he was being treated. Had he been taken captive? He was not dead, of that she was sure. "What is the book, Julia?" "_Le Conte d'un Spahi._" "Put it down and let me speak to you of Robert de Tremont." Miss Redmond, being his guest and indebted to him for her luxurious transportation, could not in decency refuse the request. "He knows nothing whatever of our errand, Julia." "Ah, then, what does he think?" Miss Redmond on the arm of her blue serge coat wore a band of white, in the center of which gleamed the Red Cross. The marquise, wrapped in a sable rug, held a small Pekinese lap-dog cuddled under her arm, and had only the appearance of a lady of leisure bent on a pleasure excursion. She did not suggest a rescuing party in the least. Her jaunty hat was enveloped by a delicate veil; her hands were incased in long white gloves. Now that she had encouraged her energetic niece and taken this decisive step, she relaxed and found what pleasure she might in the voyage. "When we came on board last night, my dear, you remember that I sat with Robert in the salon until ... well, latish." "After midnight?" "Possibly; but I am fifty and he is thirty. Moreover, I am his godmother. He is enchanting, Julia, spiritual and sympathetic. I confess, my dear, that I find myself rather at a loss as to what to tell him." Miss Redmond listened politely. She was supremely indifferent as to what had been told to her host. This was Tuesday; they should reach Algiers on Saturday at the latest. What news would meet them there? She held in her book the last despatch from the ministry of war. Supposing the Captain de Sabron had been taken captive by some marauding tribe and was being held for a ransom! _This_ was the _Romance of a Spahi_, in which she was absorbed. _Taken captive_! She could not let herself think what that might mean. "Robert's mother, you know, is my closest friend. His father was one of the witnesses of my marriage. I feel that I have brought up Robert ... it would have been _so perfect_." She sighed. "_Ma tante!_" warned Miss Redmond, with a note of pain in her voice.