“Yes.”
“I fancied you were walking yourself to death. And next day?”
“Next day—the Rue Poulletier.”
“And where may that be? I fancied I knew my Paris well.”
“It is a little street in the Île St. Louis. That is my favorite walk; home along the quays. I get the view of Notre Dame from the back, with all the flying buttresses, and the sunset beyond.”
“No wonder you are tired every night. You always walk?”
“Usually. I have Palamon with me, and they would not take him in a ‘bus. But from the Île St. Louis I often take the boat, and that is one of the treats of Paris, I think, especially when the lights are lit. And on some days I go to the Boulevard St. Germain. There; now you shall ask me no more questions.”
Odd made no further comment on the information he had received, but he resolved to be in the Rue d’Assas to-morrow. He did not intend to spy, but he did intend to walk home with Hilda, and to make her understand that one of the brotherly offices he claimed was the right to protecting companionship. He revolved the rôle and its possibilities, as he lay back in the sofa watching Hilda’s profile, and listening to Schumann—a rôle that could, at all events, not last long, since Allan Hope arrived on Wednesday. Allan’s arrival would put an end to mysteries, to a need for brotherly protection. Odd felt a certain curiosity on this point; indeed his attitude towards Hilda was one of continual curiosity.
“So Allan Hope turns up Wednesday week,” he said. “I shall be glad to see Allan again.”
Hilda’s silence might imply displeasure, but Odd, in an attitude of manly laziness, one leg crossed over the other, one hand holding an ankle, thought a little gentle teasing quite allowable.