"Hermia," he said briefly at last, "you'll have to be careful."

"Well--aren't I?" reproachfully.

"I'm not sure it's wise of us to pa.s.s through the larger towns."

"Why not?"

"You might be recognized."

"I'll have to take that chance. If you remove the element of danger you take away half the charm of our pilgrimage."

"I'd rather the danger were mine--not yours," he said soberly.

She laughed at his uneasiness. "I've absolved you from all responsibility. You are merely my Oedipus, the _vade mec.u.m_ of my unsentimental journey."

But he didn't laugh.

"I'll warrant you De Folligny doesn't think that," he said.

"Well--suppose he doesn't. Are you and I responsible for the unpleasant cast of other people's thoughts? My conscience is clear.

So is yours. _You_ know how unsentimental our journey is. So do I.

Why, Philidor, can't you see? It wouldn't be quite right if it _wasn't_ unsentimental."

"And how about my--er--my shrinking susceptibilities?" he asked.

"Oh, that! You are losing your sense of humor," she said promptly.

"The worst of your enemies or the best of your friends would hardly call you sentimental. I could not feel safer on that score if I were under the motherly wing of Aunt Harriett Westfield!"

She was a bundle of contradictions and said exactly what came into her head. He examined her again, not sure whether it were better to be annoyed or merely amused, and saw again the wide violet gaze. He looked away but he didn't seem quite happy.

"I suppose that would be the truth," he said slowly. "Unfortunately our vulgar conventions make no such nice distinctions."

"But what is the difference if _we_ make them?"

"None, of course. But I would much prefer it if we gave Verneuil a wide berth."

"Oh, I'm not afraid. Fate is always kind to the utterly irresponsible. That's their compensation for being so. What does it matter to-morrow so long as we are happy to-day?"

His expression softened.

"You are still contented then?"

"Blissfully so. Don't I look it?"

"If you didn't I wouldn't dare to ask you."

By ten o'clock Hermia was hungry again and when they came to a small village she vowed that without food she would walk no more.

"Very well then," said Markham. "We must earn the right to do it."

They found a small _auberge_ before which Hermia unpacked her orchestra and played. A crowd of women and children soon surrounded them, and the sounds of the drum brought the curious from the fields and more distant houses. The _patronne_ came out and Philidor offered to do her portrait for ten sous.

They were lucky. When the hat was pa.s.sed they found the total returns upon their venture, including the portrait, were one franc and thirty centimes. This paid for their share of the _rago?t_, some cheese, bread and a liter of wine. When they got up to go, such was the immediate fame of Philidor's portrait, that two other persons came with the money in their hands to sit to him. But he shook his head. He would be back this way, perhaps--but now--no--they must be upon their way. And so amid the farewells of their latest friends, the cries of children and the barking of dogs they took to the road again.

CHAPTER XVI

MANET CICATRIX

Olga Tcherny sat at a long window in the villa of the d.u.c.h.esse d'Orsay and looked out over the sparkling sands upon the gleaming sea.

Trouville was gay. The strand was flecked with the bright colors of fashionable pilgrims who sat or strolled along the margin of the waves, basking in the warm sun, recuperating from the rigors of the Parisian spring. White sails moved to and fro upon the horizon and a mild air stirred the lace curtains in Olga's window, which undulated lightly, their borders flapping joyously with a frivolous disregard for the somber mood of the guest of the house.

Olga's gaze was afar, quite beyond the visible. Her horizon was inward and limitless, and though she looked outward she saw nothing. Her brows were tangled, the scarlet of her lips was drawn in a thin line slightly depressed at the outer corners and the toe of her small slipper tapped noiselessly upon the rug. It was nothing, of course, to be bored, for when she was not gay she was always bored; but there was a deeper discontent in her whole att.i.tude that that which comes from mere ennui, an aggressive discontent, sentient rather than pa.s.sive, a kind of feline alertness which needed only an immediate incentive to become dangerous. Upon the dressing-table beside her was Hermia Challoner's telegram, explaining her failure to reach Trouville; in her fingers a letter from a friend in Rouen telling her of John Markham's visit to that city and of his departure. Both the telegram and the letter were much crumpled, showing that they had been taken out and read before. There seemed no doubt about it now. John Markham had received her letters announcing her arrival in Normandy and had in spite of them fled from Havre, from Rouen, to parts unknown, where neither Olga's rosily tinted notes nor Olga's rosily tinted person could reach him. She had hoped that Hermia's arrival from Paris would have made existence at Trouville at least bearable, but Hermia's change of mind explained by the belated telegram had made it evident that Fate was conspiring to her discomfort and inconvenience. To make matters the worse the d.u.c.h.esse had taken upon herself an attack of the gout which made her insupportable, and Pierre de Folligny, Olga's usual refuse in hours like these, had gone off for a week of shooting at the Ch?teau of a cousin of the d.u.c.h.esse's, the Comte de Cahors.

Hermia's change of plans had disappointed her; for, jealous as she was of the years between them, Hermia always added a definite note of color to her surroundings, or a leaven of madness--which made even sanity endurable. There seemed just now nothing in her prospect but a dreary waste of the usual--the beach, the inevitable sea, the Casino, tea, more beach, with intervals of fretful _piquet_ with the d.u.c.h.esse, an outlook both gloomy and disheartening. Indeed it had been some weeks now since things had gone quite to her liking, and her patience, never proof against continued disappointment, was almost at the point of exhaustion. The letters she had written John Markham, one from New York telling of her immediate departure, another from Paris hoping to see him at her hotel, a third from Trouville, a.s.suming the miscarriage of the other two--cool, friendly notes, tinetured with a nonchalance she was far from feeling, had failed of their purpose, and save for a brief letter telling of his departure form Rouen, he had not given the slightest evidence of his appreciation of her efforts toward a platonic reconciliation. She had not despaired of him and did not despair of him now, for it was one of her maxims that a clever woman--a woman as clever as she was--could have any man in the world if she set her cap for him.

Her self-esteem was at stake. She consoled herself with the thought that all she needed was opportunity, which being offered, she would succeed in her object, by fair means if she could, by other means if she must. She smiled a little as she thought how easily she could have conquered him had she chosen to be less scrupulous in the use of her weapons. She could have won him at "Wake Robin" if some silly Quixotism hadn't steeled her breast against him--more than tat, she knew that in spite of herself she would have won him if it hadn't been for Hermia. Hermia had discovered a remarkable faculty for unconsciously interfering with her affairs. Unconsciously? It seemed so--and yet--

The slipper on the floor tapped more rapidly for a moment and then stopped. Olga rose, her lips parting in a slow smile. It was curious about Hermia--there were moments when Olga had caught herself wondering whether Hermia wasn't more than casually interested in her elusive philosopher. Hermia's decision to follow her to Europe had been made with a suddenness which left her motives open to suspicion. Olga had learned from Georgette, who had got it from t.i.tine, that notes had pa.s.sed between Hermia and Markham, for Georgette, whatever the indifference of her successes as a hairdresser, had a useful skill at surrept.i.tious investigation. This morning Georgette had received a note from t.i.tine who was in Paris where she had been left by her mistress to do some shopping and to await Hermia's return. t.i.tine had expressed bewilderment at the disappearance of her mistress, who had left Paris in her new machine with the avowed intention of reaching Trouville by night. Georgette had imparted this information to Madame while she was doing her hair in the morning, and as the hours pa.s.sed Olga found her mind dwelling more insistently on the possible reasons for Hermia's change of plans. Where was she? And who was with her?

Olga ran rapidly through her mental list of Hermia's acquaintances and seemed to be able to account for the where-abouts or engagements of all those who might have been her companions.

What if-- She started impatiently, walked across the room and looked out into the d.u.c.h.esse's rose garden. Really, Markham's importance in her scheme of things was getting to be intolerable. It infuriated her that this obsession was warping her judgment to the point of imagining impossibilities. Hermia and Markham? The idea was absurd. And yet somehow it persisted. She turned on her heel and paced the floor of the room rapidly two or three times. She paused for a moment at her dressing-table and then with a quick air of resolution rang for her maid.

"Georgette," she announced, "I shall have no need of you for a day or two. I would like you to go to Paris,"

Georgette smiled demurely, concealing her delight with difficulty. To invite a French maid to go to Paris is like beckoning her within the gates of Paradise.

"_Oui, Madame_."

"I need two hats, a parasol and some shoes. You are to go at once."

"_Bien, Madame_."

"You know what I desire?"

"_Oh, oui, parfaitement, Madam_--a hat for the green afternoon robe and one of white--"

"And a parasol of the same color, shoes--of suede with the new heel, dancing slippers of white satin and a pair of pumps."

"I comprehend perfectly."

"You are to return her to-morrow. The train leaves in an hour. That is all."

Georgette withdrew to the door but as she was about to lay her hand upon the k.n.o.b she paused.

"And, Georgette," her mistress was saying lazily, "you will see t.i.tine, will you not?"

"If I have the time, Madame--"