She looked radiantly beautiful, and as happy as if
her soul were singing a Christmas Carol. On the face of Hugh Egerton was
a look which no woman could mistake, least of all such a woman as Julie
de Lavalette; and it was not for her, never would be for her.
Now she knew why her expected guest had not come last night, or
remembered to send an excuse. Sick with jealousy and spite, she bowed as
she passed, trying to look eighteen, and tenderly reproachful.
Her bow was returned, indifferently by Evelyn, but by Hugh with eyes of
steel, and a mouth of bronze. If he had cut her, he would have shown
less contempt than in that stiff raising of the hat.
Julie turned and walked straight down to the Condamine, forgetting that
her shoes were tight.
[Illustration: CHAPTER NINE]
THE LAST WORD OF MADEMOISELLE
[Illustration: R]
Rosemary chose the toys for the children of the rock village, and then
the "picnic" began.
The car whizzed them up the zigzag road to La Turbie, while the noon
sunshine still gilded Caesar's Trophy. They lunched in the Moorish
restaurant, and then sped on along the Upper Corniche, with a white sea
of snow mountains billowing away to the right, and a sea of sapphire
spreading to the horizon, on their left.
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