“Cutting beefsteaks would be a truer figure,” Miss Anthon suggested, with a laugh to lower the tension.
“You have let me make a fool of myself!”
“No—I have almost made a fool of myself.” She quickened her pace; both speculated for a silent minute on what she meant. She felt that she was dangerously near another explosion, and she was struggling for time to take a calm look.
“But one doesn’t mind playing the fool before you, for you are so superbly tolerant,” Erard ventured.
She flushed. “Horribly crude, though, you told me the other day.”
“To set you on the right road,” he answered quickly, “and not let you run to waste.”
“Then I am some good?” she stopped and faced him nervously.
“You have the great rebellion,” he answered impressively.
“Yes,” she exclaimed, surprised at his divination. “Something makes me sympathetic with any rebellion. I feel as if I wanted to take the present in my hands and crush it. And you are responsible for unchaining the animal in me, for rousing an appetite. I shall die if I can’t feed the animal somehow!”
He looked at her quietly, reassuringly. Then they continued on their way to the Porte Maillot. Erard had added another member to his chorus.