She was coming up the stairs utterly unconscious of what awaited her, confident in a future with him which would not be disturbed for so long a time that it need not now be considered. An event that is a year distant is very far away to a young girl. If Andree had known she would lose Kendall in a year she would not have thought about it now ... nor until the year was drawing to a close. It is the ability to hope that makes this possible. Something might turn up within the year.... But now she was stepping into the event! In a few minutes she would hear his voice telling her that he was going away to-morrow—not in a year, not in a month, but _to-morrow!_... When he told her that he must tell her more. A mere announcement of his departure would not suffice; he must supplement it by telling her if their good-bys were forever, or for a few days or months.... The bell rang and he went to the door and opened it. She stood there very demure and self-contained and grave—dressed in white as he had seen her first. She lifted her eyes to his and smiled and then became grave and wistful again, for she saw that he was not happy.... He held out his arms to her and drew her in, realizing that it was the last time he should ever draw her slender daintiness through that door, the last time she would ever enter that apartment. It was the beginning of the end of that phase in their lives, of the untrammeled romance, the quaint mystery, the adventurous sweetness. “You are _triste_,” she said, anxiously. “Is it that you have worked too hard?” He shook his head. “You are not _joyeux_ to see me.” He took her face between his hands and looked down into her deep-shaded eyes. “You must not say that.... You must never say that. It is not true.” “Then I am ver’ glad.” She smiled. “Monsieur Bert and Mademoiselle Madeleine they are here?” “Bert is here, but Madeleine hasn’t come.” “I desire her to be here.” She stepped into the _salon_ and spoke to Bert. “You shall go to fetch her. Now.... Now. You shall run ver’ fast.” “I asked her to come,” said Bert. “And she would not?” Andree’s voice showed profound astonishment. “I’m afraid she got tired of waiting for me to come back to Paris.” “But no, that ees not possible. She would not be tired to wait. She would be ver’ glad when you return.” “We’ll see. If she isn’t here in five minutes she won’t be coming.” “Why do you theenk?” “Because I guess she has another American officer. I think I saw her with one to-day.” “Oh, _non, non, non!_ That would be ver’ bad. I do not believe. Mademoiselle Madeleine is _fidèle_. You shall see.” “Why are you so sure, mademoiselle?” “_Pourquoi?..._” She shrugged her shoulders. “Bicause it would be so. If Monsieur Ken should go for three week, for three mont’, for three year, I should wait and be _très-fidèle_. I should find no other _officier américain_. _Non, non_, it would not be well.” “There’s Arlette’s head,” said Ken.