"No—I'll take my oath on that—you see, I saw her first. But she expected to find me there just the same. I can't tell you why—a woman guesses these things. I watched her. She's a deep one." She laughed again. "I wouldn't have her find me here for anything in the world." She suddenly laid her hand on his arm. "Philidor! we must go on—at once."
"But you're tired—"
"I'd be in a worse plight if I were identified—by Olga."
He paused a moment, and then, pointing to the dressing tent, turned swiftly and went out, examining the street between the booths, and then, with a pretence of looking to the fastening of the uprights, carelessly made the round outside the barrier. An atmosphere of peace pervaded the encampment and an odor of cooking food. The crowd had scattered and of Olga, or Olga's party, he saw nothing.
A wail went up in the dressing tent when Hermia announced her decision. What should Cleofonte do without her? It was she who attracted the crowds—the eloquence of Monsieur Philidor which drew them within the arena. Never in their lives had the Fabiani family enjoyed such success. And now—that the Signor and Signora should go! It was unthinkable—unbelievable! Cleofonte could not permit it. But Yvonne was obdurate. There were reasons—the Signor would understand that—which made this decision inevitable. They must go—at once, as soon as the night had fallen.
The first shock over, Cleofonte clasped his hands over his knees and stared gloomily at the tent flap. If the Signora could have stopped in Alençon but two days more. He, Cleofonte, would have paid ten francs a performance—anything to keep them there. Signora Fabiani moved silently about her tasks, but her eyes were deep with wisdom. What she was thinking, Philidor knew not, nor did Yvonne set the matter straight. It was necessary to go—that was all. It was very sad and made Yvonne unhappy, but she had, unfortunately, no choice in the matter. When it was clearly to be seen that the decision was unalterable, Cleofonte jingled his bag of coppers and sighed, Luigi scowled at vacancy and Stella unreservedly wept.
"We could have made two thousand francs," muttered Cleofonte.
"More than that," said Luigi the silent, "three thousand."
"There will be no longer pleasure in the décarcasse when the music ceases to play," sobbed Stella.
Yvonne put her arms around the child and kissed her gently.