"No, I don't. I never know where I'm going. But I'm sure of one thing. We must make some money at once."
"We'll follow Cleofonte to Alençon then," said Hermia resolutely.
So Markham prodded the donkey and they moved forward at a brisker pace.
They had met few people upon the road this morning and these, as on the day before, were farmers or those who worked for them, both men and women. The main line of traffic from Evreux, they had learned, lay some miles to their right, and it was over this road, a much harder one, that the motorists went if southward bound. It was therefore with some surprise that they heard behind them the sound of a motor horn. Markham caught the donkey's bridle and drew to one side, the car came even with them, running slowly, and stopped, its engine humming.
"This is the way to Verneuil?" asked the man at the wheel in French.
"I hope so," said Markham returning their salutation. "For that's the way we're going."
Something in Markham's manner and speech arrested the driver's eye, which passed rapidly to Hermia, who stood silently at the side of the road, suddenly aware of an unusual interest in her appearance. The man at the wheel turned to his companion and said something in a low tone. Markham felt a warm color surge upward to his brows.
"Will you precede us, Monsieur," he said coolly, "we are already late upon the way."
But the Frenchman showed no intention of moving at once and, ignoring
Markham, questioned Hermia gaily.
Mademoiselle was a bohémienne. Perhaps she would condescend to read their fortunes.