I MUST go now,' said Marthe Ludérac. For a long time they had sat side by side, silent, and pressing Jill's hand, with a deep sigh, she released it and rose.
'Yes, you must go,' said Jill vaguely. 'May I call you Marthe?'
'Will you?'
'I think of you as Marthe—and you must call me Jill.'
'Jill,' said Marthe Ludérac gently, looking into her eyes. She pronounced the word with a soft French g. 'Jill,' she repeated. 'My friend.'
Jill nodded, smiling faintly. 'That's it. You've got it at last. It seems a long time, doesn't it? Though it was only the other day we met.'
'Yes. It seems a long time. I did not know then that there were people in the world like you,' said Marthe Ludérac, still gently considering her.
'And what are we going to do?' said Jill. 'That's what I want to ask you. What's going to become of the friends? How can I go away and leave you?'
'But'—Marthe Ludérac, her eyes so deeply, so gently considering her, hesitated—'when your husband's work is finished, you will go? Is not that so?'
