"Lost? They could not. Ernest knows all the paths."
A fantastic idea passed through Christophe's mind.
"Perhaps they arrived first, and went away before we came!"
Myrrha was lying on her back and looking at the sun. She was seized with a wild burst of laughter in the middle of her song and all but choked. Christophe insisted. He wanted to go down to the station, saying that their friends would be there already. Myrrha at last made up her mind to move.
"You would be certain to lose them!… There was never any talk about the station. We were to meet here."
He sat down by her side. She was amused by his eagerness. He was conscious of the irony in her gaze as she looked at him. He began to be seriously troubled—to be anxious about them: he did not suspect them. He got up once more. He spoke of going down into the woods again and looking for them, calling to them. Myrrha gave a little chuckle: she took from her pocket a needle, scissors, and thread: and she calmly undid and sewed in again the feathers in her hat: she seemed to have established herself for the day.
"No, no, silly," she said. "If they wanted to come do you think they would not come of their own accord?"
There was a catch at his heart. He turned towards her: she did not look at him: she was busy with her work. He went up to her.
"Myrrha!" he said.
"Eh?" she replied without stopping. He knelt now to look more nearly at her.