“Do ye call me chief?” demanded the mistress. “Then, de grace, sit still! And why shouldn’t I, parbleu? If it took our big French Revolution to throw me up an ancestor out of the common kettle, there has just now been another revolution here”–she pressed a hand against her breast–“to stir me back among the people again. Do you know, dear, that your hair is beautiful!”
227And so they were two girls, girl-like, passing the evening together.
Of a sudden Jacqueline stopped, the braiding arrested by a most startling thought.
“Grands dieux,” she told herself slowly, for it had to be believed, however improbable, “until this very moment I’ve never once stopped to think of all the emotions I have been having this day. I’ve never once examined them, and such emotions–Oh, là, là, they’re a collection, a veritable museum of creeps! And here I’ve hurried through that museum, till I’ve even forgotten my umbrella at the check stand!”
228CHAPTER XXVIII
Mike
“Quand on est aimé d’une belle femme, on se tire toujours d’affaire.”
–Zoroaster, vide Voltaire
The Storm Centre chafed under a mad desire to verify his name, which was not unusual. But it was the first time he had ever craved active danger as an antidote for his thoughts. The sound of bars lifting came as a relief, and he shook off the dark mood and was himself. Before the door opened, he thrust her letter into the candle flame. He had kept it till the last minute, but now he burned it, as she knew he would.
Instead of executioners, he beheld a tray, gripped by chocolate hands. Involuntarily he looked up to the face above the tray.