“I have never been interested in dreams,” she responded calmly, and brushed from her skirt an imperceptible speck of dust.
“But perhaps this one——”
“Not even this one, I am sure. How long are we to remain here, M. de Tavernay?”
I surrendered in despair before the coldness of her glance.
“You are to remain till evening,” I replied. “But I must go at once. My first task will be to get some food. Hunger is an enemy which always returns to the attack no matter how often it is overcome.”
“And so is a foe to be respected and appeased rather than despised,” she added smiling; “I came across some such observation in a book I was reading not long ago. It had a most amusing old man in it called The Partridge,[A] who was always hungry.”
“I can sympathize with him,” I said. “My own stomach feels particularly empty at this moment; I must find something to fill it—and yours, too.”
“But I fear for you,” she protested. “I wish you would not go. I am sure we can get through the day without starving. I should prefer to try, rather than that you should again run such risks as you did last night.”
“Those risks were purely the result of my own folly,” I pointed out. “I shall not be such a fool a second time. There is a village down yonder and I shall breakfast at the inn like any other traveller. It was my haste last night which aroused suspicion. Besides,” I added, “I doubt if any one could follow even me by daylight without my perceiving it. You may have to wait an hour——”
“It will not be hunger which distresses me,” she interrupted earnestly, “but fear for your safety. Let us do without the food.”