"Yes. He knows what we are going to do, and he will tell you."
Without a word he left her and she stepped out on the balcony. Leaning against the parapet she stared down into the empty street, wondering what Joyselle would say. She had not intended to put the responsibility of the future on him; she had said the words almost unconsciously, but they were said. And he, when he came?
Would the horrible courage she had felt in him prevail to the extent of allowing him to give her to his son? Or would he refuse to settle things? Or would he, worst of all, announce his departure for America!
He was so many men, each of whom were so strong and so individual, that she could not know what he would say. Closing her eyes she waited. When the two men joined her Théo was—laughing. And to her overwrought nerves the sound seemed an insult.
"Why do you laugh?" she asked sharply.
He started. "Why—I don't remember. Papa said something amusing. Is anything wrong, my dear?"
"No." Joyselle stood in the light and she could see his face. It looked set and a little grim, but there was a fierce light in his eyes.
She looked at him defiantly. Yes, she had done well; he should choose.
"Eh, bien?" suggested Joyselle suddenly, "why have you sent for me, Most Beautiful?"
So Théo had not explained!