He held out his palm. "Two francs, please."
She put the sketch behind her back.
"Oh, no, Monsieur. Not so fast. You shall give me this for the sake of my belle musique. Is not that fair?"
"But I've taken rather a fancy to it myself."
"We'll compromise," and she stuck it up on a crevice of the rock, "and hang it on the wall of the dining-room."
Another rehearsal of Hermia's program, longer this time and with a greater care for details; and then Markham looked at his watch, knocked out his pipe, and reported that it was time they were on their way.
Half an hour later they had reached a fork of the road.
"Which way now, camarade?" cried Hermia, who was leading. Markham examined the bushes, the trees, and the fences. He stood for a moment looking down at a minute object by the side of the road, a twig, as Hermia saw, broken in the middle, the open angle toward them.
"What does that mean?" she asked.
"It's the patteran," he replied, "and it points to the west road."