“They tell me you’re packing. What——”
“Going to Les Baux,” she said, “or any other old place. I won’t stay another hour in Avignon.”
“But this morning at breakfast——”
“I know.” She frowned. As she reentered her window, she glanced back across her shoulder. “I didn’t know as much about Avignon then.”
Arles was little more than an hour’s journey. It was noon when they left Avignon. He had been fortunate in getting an empty compartment Without any coaxing, she came and sat herself beside him. When the train had started, she took off her hat and leant her head against his shoulder.
“Did you do that on purpose to make me mad?”
“Do what on purpose?”
She played with his hand. “You know, Meester Deck. Don’t pretend. You did it first with the grisette in the Luxembourg, and now here with that horrid bus-girl. If you do it a third time, you’ll have me making a little fool of myself.”
He burst out laughing. She was jealous; she cared for him. He had infected her with his own uncertainty.
“A nasty, masterful laugh,” she pouted.