She was thinking that very likely she would never walk again on any road with Tony at her side, and she was minded to prolong this last walk to the last possible moment. For in this one night Tony had reconquered her. It was not merely that his story had filled her with amazement and pride, but she had seen him that night strong and dominant, as she had never dreamed of seeing him. She loved his very sternness towards herself. Not once had he spoken her name and called her "Millie." She had watched for that and longed for it, and yet because he had not used it she was the nearer to worship. Once she said to him with a start of anxiety-- "You are not staying here under your own name?" "No," he replied. "A friend has taken rooms in Monte Carlo for both of us. Only his name has been given." "And you will leave France to-morrow?" "Yes." "Promise!" she cried. Tony promised, with a look of curiosity at his wife. Why should she be so eager for his safety? He did not understand. He was wondering what he must do in this crisis of their lives. Was he to come, in spite of all his efforts, to that ordinary compromise which it had been his object to avoid? They reached the door of the hotel, and there Tony halted. "Good night!" he said; he did not hold out his hand. He stood confronting Millie with the light from the hall lamp falling full upon his face. Millie hoped that he would say something more--just a little word of kindness or forgiveness--if only she waited long enough without answering him; and she was willing to wait until the morning came, he did indeed speak again, and then Millie was sorry that she had waited. For he said the one really cruel thing amongst all the words he had said that night. He was not aware of its cruelty, he was only conscious of its truth. "Do you know." he said--and upon his tired face there came a momentary smile--"to-night I miss the Legion very much." Again he said "Good night." This time Millie answered him; and in an instant he was gone. She could have cried out; she could hardly restrain her voice from calling him back to her. "Was this the end?" she asked of herself. "That one cruel sentence, and then the commonplace Good night, without so much as a touch of the hands. Was this the very end?" A sharp fear stabbed her. For a few moments she heard Tony's footsteps upon the flags in front of the hotel, and then for a few moments upon the gravel of the garden path; and after that she heard only the murmur of the sea. And all at once for her the world was empty. "Was this the end?" she asked herself again most piteously; "this, which might have been the beginning." Slowly she went up to her rooms. Sleep did not visit her that night. CHAPTER XXXIV THE NEXT MORNING