“No, madame, it is my automobile, at your service.”
She showed no astonishment or perplexity. Her mind seemed wholly absorbed in the problem of the sick child. “Take me in your automobile to the child, monsieur,” she replied rapidly, speaking in French. “Let us hurry, hurry!”
“But where, madame?”
“I do not know, monsieur, but I will show you. There! There!” She waved her hand in the direction of Gheel.
We hurried like fugitives from the house and into the tonneau, leaving the awe-struck peasants standing with mouths agape. Pierre stared in consternation at our coming, but said no word. I did not try to explain. Our passenger sat tense, her head turned to one side as if she were listening closely.
We came quickly to a fork of the road. “Which way, monsieur?” Pierre asked.
“I do not know. It is for madame to say,” I answered.
She was quiet for an instant. “To the right hand,” she exclaimed suddenly. “Make haste! There! In that house!”
The car jerked to a stop, and I leaped out to help madame to the ground. Now that we had arrived, to my astonishment she made no move to leave the car. Her head sank slowly forward to her breast, and she sat huddled listlessly, paying no attention to Pierre or me.
“Is it this house, madame?” I asked, hoping to arouse her.