At this, she bent quickly forward and unlatched the door. It swung wide to him.
Hardly knowing what he was doing, he accepted the dumb invitation, stepped in, took the empty seat, and closed the door.
Almost at once the car moved on with a jerk, the girl sinking back into her corner with a suggestion of breathlessness, as though her effort to seem composed had been almost too much for her strength.
Her face, turned toward Lanyard, seemed wan in the half light, but immobile, expressionless; only her eyes were darkly quick with anticipation.
On his part, Lanyard felt himself hopelessly confounded, in the grasp of emotions that would scarce suffer him to speak. A great wonder obsessed him that she should have opened that door to him no less than that he should have entered through it. Dimly he understood that each had acted without premeditation; and asked himself, was she already regretting that momentary weakness.
"Why did you do that?" he heard himself demand abruptly, his voice harsh, strained, and unnatural.
She stiffened slightly, with a nervous movement of her shoulders.
"Because I saw you… I was surprised; I had hoped—believed—you had left Paris."
"Without you? Hardly!"
"But you must," she insisted—"you must go, as quickly as possible.
It isn't safe—"