He ran up the stairs of the apartment, snatched the key from under the rug, and threw open the door. The apartment was lighted. He paused. Madeleine and Bert were in the salon, and both appeared in the door to greet him. They called to him gaily, but Kendall did not reply. He scowled at them and flung himself past them without a word, to disappear in his room and slam the door.
“Qu’est-ce que c’est?” exclaimed Madeleine, and then laughed. “Beaucoup zigzag!”
“No,” said Bert, staring after his friend, “he doesn’t drink. Something’s up. Something’s happened.”
“It is Andree,” Madeleine said, with a shake of her head. “I know. Oui.... It is plain to read. Jaloux. Oh yes. I know the signs. Pauvre enfant! He is ver’ jealous. There is no other anger like it—none.”
“What had I better do?”
“Not anything. That is best.... He mus’ be lef’ alone—him.... But I do not theenk—Andree love heem. I could see. He is not glad.... But what would you? It is not nice to be jealous. One suffers. But I theenk he make the mistake—yes.”
“Anyhow, he’s in an awful stew. Seems like I ought to do something.”
“No—he would behave like one sauvage. It is to make to leave him alone. To-morrow, perhaps....”
CHAPTER XIV
Andree glanced at her watch as she emerged from the Metro at the St.-Michel station that evening and noticed that it was almost exactly seven o’clock. With quaint, almost stiff little steps she proceeded across the Place, her eyes lowered with that charmingly unconscious demureness which was a part of her, her thoughts directed inward, as they always seemed to be. She had a gift of detachment; it was possible for her to be in the midst of a crowd, and yet to seem and to be unconscious of the crowd’s proximity or existence. She always seemed grave, with a tiny hint of apprehension, and when, as she rarely did, she raised her eyes to regard some passing individual, it was with a sort of naïve wonder to discover that there was another human being in her neighborhood.... That is how she impressed one. What she was really thinking, how much she saw of what went on about her, nobody ever knew. Kendall, who had studied her every mood, had not the least idea of what her little head busied itself with. She was a dainty mystery to him. She was a dainty mystery to everybody who felt an interest in her.