“Taken her to Dijon, too,” said my lord thoughtfully. “Y’know, the more I think on it the less I believe in this Dijon rubbish. It don’t make sense. I can swallow the rest, but I’ll admit that worries me.”
“It is of all things the most incomprehensible,” agreed madame.
“But you are imbécile, Rupert! To go to Dijon, that is not a great affair! Many people go to Dijon: it is nothing!”
“Do they?” said his lordship sceptically. “Well, I never met anyone that did. Why should they? What’s to do at Dijon? Tell me that!”
“It is a town, Rupert, is it not? Then, of course, people go there. I do not find that part incomprehensible. But that Vidal should run away with Juliana — voyons, that is so incomprehensible that I do not believe it.” She turned to Madame de Charbonne. “Do not write to Fanny! Me, I will arrange everything.”
Madame sighed. “Very well, my dear. I do not want to write to Fanny, I am sure. It has been a very perplexing day, very énervant, I assure you. I ask myself, where, too, is the other girl? But that is not my affair, only that I think it very strange to depart without a word to me.”
“What other girl?” asked Rupert, puzzled.
“The girl that was the friend of Juliana. Juliana asked her to visit us. She was in Paris with her aunt, and Juliana invited her to stay in my house.”
Léonie brushed this aside. “I am not interested in Juliana’s friend. She is not at all a propos.”
“No, my dear, but I think it odd that she should go away like that.”