Again a bugle blew sharply from the barracks, and a troop of cavalry danced and pawed through the gate, clattering away down the Rue de Seine. Gethryn shut the window and turned into the room. Yvonne stood before the dying embers. He went to her, almost timidly. Neither spoke. At last she took up her satchel and wrap. “It is time,” she whispered. “Let us go.” He clasped her once in his arms; she laid her cheek against his. The train left Montparnasse station at nine. There was hardly anyone in the waiting room. The Guard flung back the grating. “Vernon, par Chartres?” asked Gethryn. “Vernon—Moulins—Chartres—direct!” shouted the Guard, and stamped off down the platform. Gethryn showed his ticket which admitted him to the platform, and they walked slowly down the line of dismal-looking cars. “This one?” and he opened a door. She stood watching the hissing and panting engine, while Gethryn climbed in and placed her bags and rugs in a window corner. The car smelt damp and musty, and he stepped out with a choking sensation in his chest. A train man came along, closing doors with a slam. “All aboard—ladies—gentlemen—voyageurs?” he growled, as if to himself or some familiar spirit, and jerked a sullen clang from the station bell. The engine panted impatiently. Rex struggled against the constraint that seemed to be dividing them. “Yvonne, you will write?” “I don’t know!” “You don’t know! Yvonne!” “I know nothing except that I am wicked, and my mother is dying!” She said it in low, even tones, looking away from him. The gong struck again, with a startling clash. The engine shrieked; a cloud of steam rose from under the wheels. Rex hurried her into the carriage; there was no one else there. Suddenly she threw herself into his arms. “Oh! I love you! I love you! One kiss, no; no; on the lips. Good-bye, my own Rex!” “You will come again?” he said, crushing her to him. Her eyes looked into his. “I will come. I love you! Be true to me, Rex. I will come back.” Her lover could not speak. Doors slamming, and an impatient voice—“Descendez donc, M’sieu!”—roused him; he sprang from the carriage, and the train rolled slowly out of the smoke-filled station.