“At once,” I urged, and sat down a little weakly, for I was not yet wholly recovered from the swift reaction from that agony of fear.
She spread upon the grass the cloth with which the hamper was covered and uttered little cries of delight as she drew forth its contents and arranged them before her.
“Why, you are a wizard, M. de Tavernay!” she cried when the hamper was empty. “Here is a feast fit for a king. That girl must have fallen desperately in love with you! A real passion! Poor creature!”
“I posed as a Republican,” I explained. “She is a good patriot and anxious to serve the Nation.”
“Especially when it is personified by a handsome and gallant fellow,” she amended. “No matter; I am not jealous. Indeed I have no right to be. But I wonder what the betrothed would say? Rest easy; she shall never know, I promise you that. And now, if you will draw the corks, we are ready to begin.”
“I am glad to see you in such spirits,” I remarked with irony as I got out my knife.
“It is so much pleasanter than being dull and gloomy, is it not?” she agreed.
“You remind me of a red Indian,” I continued as I drew the corks, “dancing around his captive and burying a barb in his flesh from time to time just to see his anguish.”
“Well,” she retorted, “I am going to treat you as no red Indian ever treated a captive. Sit down and share the feast.”
“But I have already eaten,” I protested. Nevertheless I sat down in the place she indicated. “Besides, my fright when I found you gone killed any return of appetite.”