Chateauroy himself was bending his fine, dark head toward the patrician on whom her instinct had fastened her hatred.
"You expressed your wish to see my Corporal's little sculptures again, madame," he was murmuring now, as Cigarette got close enough under her flower shadows to catch the sense of the words.

"To hear was to obey with me.

He waits your commands yonder." Cecil obeyed the lackey who crossed the lawn, passed up the stairs, and stood before his Colonel, giving the salute; the shade of some acacias still fell across him, while the party he fronted were in all the glow of a full Algerian moon and of the thousand lamps among the belt of flowers and trees.

Cigarette gave a sharp, deep-drawn breath, and lay as mute and motionless as she had done before then, among the rushes of some dried brook's bed, scanning a hostile camp, when the fate of a handful of French troops had rested on her surety and her caution.
Chateauroy spoke with a carelessness as of a man to a dog, turning to his Corporal.
"Victor, Mme.

la Princesse honors you with the desire to see your toys again.