"What?" I heard Madge's surprised exclamation. "But I thought——"
"——by the boat, I think ... ever so much ... delightful...."
She shook hands with them and crossed over to us. She looked straight into Derry's face. We were all standing. The five or six words she spoke were as if she was telling those beads again. Each one was isolated, bright, lingering yet relentlessly passing, a thank-offering, a prayer——
"So—long—Derry—dear ... all—the—best," she said, her hand in his.
"Good-bye—Julia," he said, smiling.
She walked away.
I caught her up in front of the hotel. Little groups of people moved across the lime-shaded Square, all in one direction, seeking the Porches and the Lainerie, leaving themselves comfortable time for the vedette. We followed them. She did not take my arm, neither did any word pass between us.
Under the Porches, past the Convent we went. The groups of people became more frequent as they concentrated from various luncheon-places. We dropped down the steep astounding street that is called Jerzual. We were nearly at the Porte, of which the twelfth-century portion is the modern part, before she opened her lips.
"I hate people who cry," she said suddenly.
Then she closed her lips again.