“Well, unwind her.”
“She lives for me—I can see it. I did not know that there were such women in the world, and, of course, it is my luck to meet one of them and get myself in this tangle with her. It is very easy for you to sip your beer and say ‘Unwind her.’ Suppose a child were to run up to you and put its arms round you, could you box its ears? And, besides, I have wound myself a bit round her. I have an affection for her, though I am weary of this love business. I do love her as a child, but then one does not want to spend one’s life in the nursery.”
“Take a little cottage,” reiterated Gaillard; “place her in it. We will go down together, you and I, each day for a fortnight. Then we will drop a day by degrees, and wean her, so to speak. It will take you the whole summer. Well, it is an idealistic way of spending the warm weather. We will have a cottage with clematis on the porch, and a garden filled with old-fashioned flowers. There she will, so to speak, gain her legs, and when she is able to run alone, trust her, she will find a playmate.”
“The first thing to be done,” said Toto thoughtfully, “is to get away from this part of the town before anyone finds out I am here. I do not want this affair advertised all over Paris. You are certain that no one knows about it. You have hinted it to no one?”
“Absolutely certain—no one. You are in Corsica; that is enough.”
“Have you seen my mother lately?”
“I dined with her only yesterday.”
“Why, I thought you said you had been in bed for the last four days.”
“So I have; but I got up yesterday evening and called upon Mme. la Princesse in reply to a summons. She detained me to dinner.”
“What did she want?”