Brigit's appetite had fled, and she was most uneasy as she watched him, for she did not dare risk an explosion by putting the smallest question to him.
Something was very wrong, and she was alarmed. Suddenly, as a clock struck half-past six, he rose. "Au revoir, my children," he said, "I must get back home. Théo will call for you at ten minutes to ten, Brigitte, my—my daughter!"
And he was gone, leaving Théo staring after him.
"What can be the matter?" the young man mused. "He looks very bad, doesn't he? It is too early for letters to have come. He can't——" He paused and a quick smile stirred his moustache and showed his white teeth.
"Can't what?" queried Brigit, vaguely annoyed by his smile.
"He can't have fallen in love——"
"Of course he can't!"
"No. But only because he hasn't seen anyone since the night before last. He is amazing about his love-affairs, dear, in and out before you can get your breath, and always madly sincere!"
"I know, 'He always cares for the time,'" she quoted softly, pushing away her cup. "Let's go, Théo, I want to get a sleep before we go to church."
He was surprised by the irritation in her voice, but rose obediently, and after disappearing for a moment to pay Madame Malaumain, led her back to the inn.