"Do as I tell you, idiot! And bring the rope with you. You mustn't leave any traces!"
She turned and bolted; he followed her. They reached the end of the valley before the slab was raised, and without exchanging a word took cover in the wood.
Twenty minutes later they entered the stream and did not leave it till they could emerge on to a bank of pebbles on which their feet could leave no print.
Saint-Quentin was off again like an arrow; but Dorothy stopped short, suddenly shaken by a spasm of laughter which bent her double.
"What is it?" he said. "What's the matter with you?"
She could not answer. She was convulsed, her hands pressed against her ribs, her face scarlet, her teeth, small, regular, whitely-gleaming teeth, bared. At last she managed to stutter:
"You—you—your high—high hat!... That b-b-black coat!... Your b-b-bare feet!... It's t-t-too funny!... Where did you sneak that disguise from?... Goodness! What a sight you are!"
Her laughter rang out, young and fresh, on the silence in which the leaves were fluttering. Facing her, Saint-Quentin, an awkward stripling who had outgrown his strength, with his face too pale, his hair too fair, his ears sticking out, but with admirable, very kindly black eyes, gazed, smiling, at the young girl, delighted by this diversion which seemed to be turning aside from him the outburst of wrath he was expecting.
Of a sudden, indeed, she fell upon him, attacking him with thumps and reproaches, but in a half-hearted fashion, with little bursts of laughter, which robbed the chastisement of its sting.
"Wretch and rogue! You've been stealing again, have you? You're no longer satisfied with your salary as acrobat, aren't you, my fine fellow? You must still prig money or jewels to keep yourself in high hats, must you? What have you got, looter? Eh? Tell me!"