“Run to earth!” she cried, advancing a step to meet me.
“A pretty poor trophy of the chase,” said I, “but proud that you are its killer.”
To my surprise and mystification, her cheeks and brow flushed rosily; she was obviously conscious of it, and laughed.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” she said.
“I!”
“Yes, you, poor man! I suppose I couldn’t have more thoroughly compromised you. Madame Brossard will never believe in your respectability again.”
“Oh, yes, she will,” said I.
“What? A lodger who has ladies calling upon him at five o’clock in the morning? But your bundle’s on your shoulder,” she rattled on, laughing, “though there’s many could be bolder, and perhaps you’ll let me walk a bit of the way with you, if you’re for the road.”
“Perhaps I will,” said I. She caught up her riding-skirt, fastening it by a clasp at her side, and we passed out through the archway and went slowly along the road bordering the forest, her horse following obediently at half-rein’s length.
“When did you hear that I was at Madame Brossard’s?” I asked.