I was so astounded at this incredible tale that I pulled my horse up short.
“The whole story! That’s absurd, my dear! You must have left word at home ... given some pretext....”
“Of course ... but what it was I can’t remember!”
“But your housekeeper ... your maid ... your husband ... when you came home, they must have asked you about the villa or something!”
“Yes, my husband asked me if I had had a good trip and I answered that I had!”
“And the train ... the journey itself ... the station ... Beaulieu! Where did you go, when you got out of the train?”
“To ... to the villa, ... of course!”
“Of course nothing! You don’t seem to be so sure!”
“Oh, I’m sure ... sure enough! The trouble is, André ... I don’t know, it all seems so vague and hazy in my mind ... and it’s funny ... the harder I try to remember, the less I seem able to.... Oh, I’m ill, ill, André! Here ... here!”
And one of her pink fingers pointed to the vertical wrinklet between her eyebrows. As I sat there looking at her fixedly, searchingly, she burst suddenly into convulsive sobs. I reined my horse to her side, put my arm about her shoulders, and kissed her tears away.