"Nor I. We must leave here at dawn."
"As you please. Now I'm going to bed."
She got up and gave him her hand and he led her to the door.
"Good night, Hermia, and pleasant dreams. You shall taste the springs at their fountain head, meet the world with naked hands, learn the luxury of contentment; or else—" as he paused she put her hand before his lips.
"There is no alternative. I shall not fail you. Good night, Philidor."
"Good night, Hermia."
Markham sought out Duchanel and sent a telegram to Olga which Hermia had dictated. "Have changed my plans. Am leaving with a party for a tour of French Inns. Will communicate later."
Duchanel understood. The message would be forwarded from Paris as
Monsieur directed. No one in Passy or elsewhere should know.
Markham nodded and paid the bill, producing from a wallet which Hermia had not seen an additional amount which Duchanel found sufficient to compensate him for his trouble.
"You understand, Monsieur?" said Markham, as he went up to bed. "Madame and I are leaving here à pied. We shall have coffee and brioche at five. You will not remember which way we go."