She stole her glances sideways like the rest of the women. And she would have rushed to him, if she had not been forcibly withheld by her son. Ramage. And yet, as she rose slowly to her feet and stood looking at him with outstretched hands, a strange mixture of expressions shining in her wonderful eyes, he realized in some measure the strength of her determination, felt the utter impotence of anything which he could say to her. It was the first expression of the mother's blood. She refused to accept her fate, but what is it that she could do about it? Night after night she invented alternatives. I want to leave Paris to-day—this very day.
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