"Two tires, one wheel—the speedometer," she was saying in French. "I will leave them for you to sell, Madame, if you can. And Monsieur—he may have whatever else is left. That is understood between you, and these gentlemen will bear witness. As for me—never will I ride in an automobile again. If it pleases you, say nothing more of this than may be necessary. Adieu, Madame et Monsieur."
There were offers of conveyance to Evreux (for a consideration), which Markham refused, an the two companions took to the road and soon passed out of sight, leaving the group of peasants staring after them, still mystified as to the whole occurrence and wondering with Norman stolidity whether Hermia was mad or just a fool.
As Hermia followed Markham over the ridge and down the long slope that led to Vagabondia a deep-drawn breath of delight escaped her.
The gray road descended slowly into a valley, already filled with the long shadows of the afternoon-a valley of ripening crops laid out in lozenges of green and purple and gold, like a harlequin suit, girdled at the waist by the blue ribbon of the river, a cap of green and purple where a clump of young oaks perched jauntily on the bald contour of the distant hilltop; above, a sky of blue flecked with saffron and silver like a turquoise matrix—against which the tall poplars marched in stately procession, their feathery tops nodding solemnly at the sun.
It was curious. From a car the landscape had never looked like this. Indeed, when she was motoring, Hermia never saw anything much but the stretch of road in front of her, its "thank ye marms," its ditches and its speed signs.
She glanced up at Markham, who strode silently beside her, his pipe hanging bowl-downward from his teeth, his lips smiling under the shadowy mustache, his eyes blinking merrily at the sky. She guessed now at the reason for the serenity in his face, as to which she had been so curious. It was the reflection of the wide blue vault above him, the quiet river and the dignity of the distances.
Hermia paused and drank the air in gulps.
"Vagabondia! You've opened its gates to me, John Markham."
He looked around at her in amusement.
"There are no gates in Vagabondia, Miss Challoner."