“It is a matter of taste,” said he—rather well, I thought.
I laughed and leaned back. He waved his hand, as if he had dismissed a foolish impertinence. He had early, I think, taken what he considered my measure as a trifler and outsider. Yet I could not but wonder over the incredible self-assurance which could thus assert itself against all reason and policy. Surely, if his objet were the sister, the sensible thing would be to propitiate the guardian brother? But that did not seem to occur to him. I was merely a tiresome obstacle in the way to that perfect rapprochement which nature and circumstance had decreed between him and her. They were souls affinitive, mutually attracted, and, as such and thenceforth, discharged from all conventional obligations. It was ludicrous, if you like; laughable to a degree; yet, if you have observed, you will recognise that attitude of mind, goatish and transcendental in one, as an attitude not uncommon among Latins.
And how about Fifine’s acceptance of the implied understanding? Well, a riddle will women always be! First I noticed, to my immense amusement, how, after trifling a little with her birdlet, she left it on her plate untasted. Carabas observed that too, and, you may be sure, drew flattering conclusions from it. Moreover, it was obvious that she was interested in him—and genuinely, for all her pretence of secretly playing upon his foibles for my behoof. His enthusiasm, his sentiment, his play of imagery on the subject of ancient legends, his minute local knowledge, all attracted her; and when, lunch being finished, she drew me aside, I knew what to expect.
“He is really very amusing, mon ami. I think we could do worse, after all, than accept him as a guide.”
“Much worse, I am sure,” said I. “Tell him to lead on, and we will follow.”
Nothing loth, he led on—and in that hat of hats. I just glanced at Fifine, when he appeared in it; but she did not seem to notice. Presently I fell behind, leaving them together, and, slipping away unobserved, sought my own entertainment in my own way.
I re-entered the Porte de la Gardette somewhere near four o’clock, and found the couple awaiting my appearance hard by. Fifine looked disturbed and a little pale. She hurried to me.
“O, where have you been?” she said. “We have been hunting for you everywhere.”
“Why, to enjoy,” said I, pulling out my watch, “what you should not have missed—the view of the town from the outside. But, if you are ready, we must move to catch our train.”
She looked at me queerly a moment, her face working in an odd way between question and reproach.