"I don't like this inn," she said. "I consider it a suspicious place."
"Madame!"
"What do I know about your inn?" she demanded insolently, "or about you, either?"
"Madame!"
"You say you are a Chilean. You don't look it. Neither does your friend resemble a Norwegian. If you desire to know my opinion you both look like Yankees!"
"Madame, this is intolerable——"
"Possibly," she interrupted, staring at me out of chilly eyes that fairly glittered. "Possibly, too, I am mistaken. Perhaps your servants, also, unduly arouse suspicion—your pretty housekeeper may really be your housekeeper. The waitress, too, may be a real waitress. This is all quite possible, Monsieur. But I prefer to be prepared for any eventuality in this tavern!"
And she went into her room and shut the door.
The ex-queen's insolence upset me. I was possessed by a furious desire to turn them all out of doors. The prospect of living in the same house with these people for days—perhaps for weeks, seemed unbearable. Surely there must be some way out of the valley!
Down stairs I saw Raoul coming from the front courtyard leading two strange horses attached to a sort of carryall.