"I shall probably have a carriage for your mother and Denham and myself, Roy," he said slowly. "And me!" Colonel Baron was silent, with a silence which spoke more plainly to his wife than to Roy. Mrs. Baron knew what it meant, while Roy merely supposed his own name to have been inadvertently left out. "What does all this mean, Roy?" his mother was asking, in a low voice. "Tell me." "Why, mamma, I suppose old Nap wants to have us all more out of the way. Perhaps he thinks Nelson will come and set us free some day." Roy laughed. "Lots of détenus and prisoners are ordered off to Verdun, from here and other places too. And everybody says it is such a tremendous shame, this cold weather? Why couldn't they settle things sooner? It's horrid of him." Mrs. Baron stood up, and with her slow graceful step she moved across to Roy. Colonel Baron waited silently. He knew that in her mind, as in his, was the promise she had given months before, that if they should have to go farther away from England, she would then consent to Roy's immediate return home. The dread of this had been on her all through the autumn, and now abruptly the blow had fallen. Mrs. Baron would not draw back from her word--Colonel Baron knew this--but neither would she try to hide what the keeping of it would cost her. The détenus had pretty well ceased to hope for any speedy release from their captivity, and she could not but be aware that a parting from her boy at this juncture might mean long separation. If Mrs. Baron idolised her husband, she idolised her son only one degree less. It was hard to be away from Molly, but in that respect Colonel Baron was the greater sufferer of the two, since he had always especially doted on his little girl. To send Roy away would be to Mrs. Baron simply heart-breaking. Yet she felt that it would have to be. She had promised, and Colonel Baron would not let her off her promise. She laid one slender hand on either of the boy's shoulders, looking into his face with a fixed wistful gaze, while tears gathered heavily in her eyes. Roy was puzzled. "Why, ma'am, you don't mind it so much as all that! I would not cry for old Napoleon!"--forgetting a certain little past scene in an upstairs Paris bedroom. "And I'm tired of Fontainebleau. Aren't you? I think I sha'n't mind a new place. I wonder what Verdun is like. Please don't cry, mamma," entreated Roy, holding himself very upright. "My dear Harriette!" remonstrated the Colonel. He came close, and she turned from Roy to lean against him, breaking into bitter sobs.