Cynthia came out of the station door to the deserted cobble street and twilight. “I wish it had happened to me,” she thought a little mournfully. “But maybe it will, soon,” and had no idea how very soon that would be. The moon hung like a burnished platter above the romantic old town, too beautiful, too unreal to be true.
“Well,” thought Cynthia, going practical all of a sudden, “I guess somebody’s got to break the news to Auntie!” And started down the street toward the hotel of Miss Comstock.
CHAPTER 7
Siena
THE RACING SNAIL
Then at Marseilles, where Cynthia had planned to take train for Paris, for Cherbourg and a ship for home, she caught up with her mail. One specially fat and formidable envelope, with many seals, for which she had to sign papers and more papers, proved to contain, of all things, the long deferred check for the capture of Goncourt, the jewel thief.
Cynthia, in the office of Cook and Sons, stood surveying the paper with bright round eyes. So many francs—one thought in francs now, not in dollars—would purchase—what? Presents for home? Her luggage was already heavy with ’em. More clothes in Paris? She had, really, all she needed. A trip to some place farther on? Cynthia nibbled a pink finger tip and thought about that. Maybe never again, after this once, would she get to Europe. Maybe she’d be some day, a long time off, one of those little old ladies with shawls who sit in corners, well out of the draft, and talk with wistful reminiscence of “when I was in France—when I was in Italy.” Meaning of course the one time they were there. Perhaps that wouldn’t be true, perhaps she’d come again in a year or two. But just the same she owed it to herself to get all she could out of this adventure while she was right here on the spot. The thief had proved to be just so many extra francs, dropped by the gods directly into her lap. Shouldn’t she, therefore, take it for a sign, cable home that she was waiting for a later boat, and go on with the adventure?
“When I was in Italy,” the rhythm returned. Cynthia whirled to face the surprised young man behind the counter.
“If you had a windfall of ... so many hundred or thousand francs,” she asked him, “where would you go—from here?”