“I know it. The world is only a big asylum. There’s a path to the river behind these bushes. Quick—pick up your painting traps——”
“But, Nihla, dear——”
“Oh, please! I’m dying to run away with you!”
“To Paris?” he demanded, still incredulous that the girl really meant it.
“Of course! You can get a taxi at the Pont-au-Change and take me home. Will you?”
“It would be wonderful, of course——”
“It will be paradise!” she exclaimed, slipping her hand into his. “Now, let us run like the dickens!”
In the uncertain moonlight, filtering through the shrubbery, they found a hidden path to the river; and they took it together, lightly, swiftly, speeding down the slope, all breathless with laughter, along the moonlit way.
In the suburban villa of the Comte d’Eblis a wine-flushed and very noisy company danced on, supped at midnight, continued the revel into the starlit morning hours. The place was a jungle of confetti.