We whizzed through the French country, catching glimpses of little towns, with red-roofed cottages clustered about the inevitable church and chateau, until night came and looking out of the window was no longer profitable. At nine, or thereabouts, we alighted from the train at Paris.
In the cab, on the way to the hotel where we were to meet the Heptons, Hephzy talked incessantly.
“Paris!” she said, over and over again. “Paris! where they had the Three Musketeers and Notre Dame and Henry of Navarre and Saint Bartholomew and Napoleon and the guillotine and Innocents Abroad and—and everything. Paris! And I'm in it!”
At the door of the hotel Mr. Hepton met us.
Before we retired that night I told Hephzy what I had deferred telling until then, namely, that I did not intend leaving for Switzerland with her and with the Heptons the following day. I did not tell her my real reason for staying; I had invented a reason and told her that instead.
“I want to be alone here in Paris for a few days,” I said. “I think I may find some material here which will help me with my novel. You and the Heptons must go, just as you have planned, and I will join you at Lucerne or Interlaken.”
Hephzy stared at me.
“I sha'n't stir one step without you,” she declared. “If I'd known you had such an idea as that in your head I—”
“You wouldn't have come,” I interrupted. “I know that; that's why I didn't tell you. Of course you will go and of course you will leave me here. We will be separated only two or three days. I'll ask Hepton to give me an itinerary of the trip and I will wire when and where I will join you. You must go, Hephzy; I insist upon it.”
In spite of my insisting Hephzy still declared she should not go. It was nearly midnight before she gave in.