"Next July the patch had doubled its length.
"'The flowers are travelling towards me,' said M. Benest.
"And year by year the stream brought them nearer. That was a terrible
July for him when they came within two feet of the signpost; but he
would not stretch a hand beyond it.
"'She coquets with her forgiveness, the poor Mademoiselle Henriette.
But I can wait: _'faut pas deshonorer la patrie a la fin!'_
"Before the next July he had made sure of one plant at least on his
side of the signpost; and fished beside it day after day, fearful lest
some animal should browse upon it. But when the happy morning came for
it to open, and M. Benest knelt beside his prize, he drew back a hand.
"'Is it quite open?' he asked. 'Better wait, since all is safe, for the
sun to warm it a little longer.'
"And he waited, until a trout, to remind him, perhaps, took a fly with
a splash beneath his nose. Then, with a start, M. Benest's fingers
closed and snapped off the yellow blossom.
"'She has forgiven me,' said he. Now I can forgive myself.'"
For a moment or two, though his story was ended, the General continued
to toy with the stem of his wine glass. One or two of the guests cried
"Bravo!" But Lady Bateson's eyes were wet, and Dorothea gazed hard for
a while into the polished surface of the mahogany before she recalled
herself, and, with a nod, swept the ladies away to the drawing-room.
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