“Do not hurry, Helena,” I said. “We can return when you like. But the salad—and the coffee! And see, you have not touched your wine.”
“Take me back,” she said, her voice low. “I hate you. Till the end of the world I’ll hate you.”
“If I could believe that, Helena, it would matter nothing to me to go a mile farther on any voyage, a foot farther to shield myself or you.”
“Take me back,” she said to me again. “I want to go to Aunt Lucinda.”
“Jean,” said I, a moment later when he reappeared. “Mademoiselle wishes to see one more ice-box in the kitchen. We are in search of something. May we go again?”
Jean spread out his arms in surprise, but pushed open the green door. We thus passed, shielded by our screen and unobserved. Once within, I grasped Jean firmly by the shoulder and pressed a ten dollar bill into his hand, with other money for the reckoning.
“Take this, Jean, for yourself. We do not care to pass out at the front, for certain reasons—do you comprehend? It is of Mademoiselle.”
“It is of Mademoiselle? Ah, depend upon me. What can I do?”
“This. Leave us here, and we will walk about. Meantime go out the back way to the alley, Jean, and have a taxicab ready at the mouth of the alley. Come quick when it is arranged and let us go, because we must go at once. At another time, Jean, we will return, I trust more happily. Then we shall order such a dinner as will take Luigi himself a day to prepare, my friend!”
“For Mademoiselle?”