The food restored Patricia's courage and revived her hopes, which had begun to wane with the disappearance of Virginie. When the meal was over, she told Delia she was going to fetch Virginie. Then she and Chet went back to their post and resumed their long vigil.
Meanwhile, what was happening in the house of the green shutters?
The wrath of Madame at the failure of her plan was all that Virginie had expected it would be, and the girl had to bear the brunt of it when she ventured in at last. Madame had called at the hotel and asked for Patricia. She was not in and had not been seen since breakfast, nor had they, the hotel authorities, any information as to her whereabouts. Neither did they know when she would be back. Madame had waited in the lounge for over an hour, but no Patricia had appeared. Then, fearing to be seen there any longer, she had come away. Where had the little idiot flown to, she inquired in a violent temper? Could it be possible she had joined her father? All her plans were now upset by this unaccountable action of her intended victim.
Virginie, compelled to listen to it all, and fearful of betraying some knowledge of the matter, was more uncomfortable than she dared to show, and could only sit by with downcast eyes and her usual air of terrorized docility.
"It is your fault! I believe it is all your fault!" Madame stormed, and Virginie shrank back physically as well as mentally, though she knew that Madame in no way realized how very much "her fault" it actually was and was only venting her ill-temper on the nearest object.
"Well, let us go to luncheon," Madame at length announced when her ill-humor had spent itself. "It has been a bad day's work, but we must eat, and afterward I will rest and think what to do next."
The meal was consumed in utter silence. Madame was absorbed with her own thoughts, and Virginie was only too thankful for a respite from her angry accusations. All during the hour she was praying, hoping, wondering what Madame was going to do about the sketch still carelessly lying in the drawer of her writing-desk. Would she remember to put it safely away before she retired to her room? Every mouthful choked the girl, but she made a brave pretense of eating. It seemed as if Madame would never be done with this dreadful meal, the most trying that Virginie had ever endured.
But the ordeal was over at last. Madame rose, pushed aside her chair, and left the room without further remark. And Virginie, with loudly beating heart, heard her pass through the living-room and linger a moment at her desk, rustling the papers about. What was she doing? Oh, if she only dared to peep in and see! But Melanie was silently clearing the table, so she passed out to the screened veranda beyond, hearing Madame ascending the stairs as she did so. And she did not even know what had become of the Crimson Patch!
It seemed as if Melanie would never finish her work in the dining-room. Half an hour passed and she was still fussing about, washing, as she usually did, all the silver and glass in the butler's pantry, and passing and repassing in and out on her many errands. Not until she retired to the kitchen would Virginie dare to begin her investigations.