“Well?” she queried, in French.
“Another good season and we’ll be able to get away.”
“Where to?”
“Los Angeles would not be so bad. A good, equable climate, a little society, and a club or two—ah!”
“But is it safe?”
He furrowed his brows.
“We’ll risk it. Four years is a long time, and I think I am changed somewhat. You won’t be sorry to leave this country—ma cherie?”
Natalie put down her crochet.
“No. It seems a waste of one’s life. Mon Dieu, I am tired of it.”
Devinne cocked up his ears as two shrill hoots came from the river. He sprang to the window and saw the dim light of a ship going up the river.