“Forget you, madame?” I cried. “I would as soon forget—”
“So I knew you’d wait for me.”
“Here I am, waiting faithfully,” said I.
“That’s right,” said the duchess. “Take this, please, Mr. Aycon.”
“This” was a small handbag. She gave it to me, and began to walk toward the cart, where Jean was placidly smoking a long black cheroot.
“You wished to speak to me?” I suggested, as I walked by her.
“I can do it,” said the duchess, reaching the cart, “as we go along.”
Even Jean took his cheroot from his lips. I jumped back two paces.
“I beg your pardon!” I exclaimed, “As we go along, did you say?”
“It will be better,” said the duchess, getting into the cart (unassisted by me, I am sorry to say). “Because he may find out I’m gone, and come after us, you know.”