"Where to?"
"Ah, ma'am, if only I knew!"
Those faded, medieval eyes gazed at the benefactress in a sudden understanding and intimacy; and Lilla thought, "You, too, perhaps in some region far removed from your pots and pans, have had such a moment as this!" And she would have liked to let her face fall forward upon the bosom of that threadbare working dress, feel those toil-worn arms close round her, and utter the plea, "Tell me how to bear such things, to survive, to emerge into that strange serenity of yours."
She drove to Brantome's. The whole world was now tumbling down about her ears.
Brantome rose from his desk, where perhaps he had been sketching out some brilliant appreciation of Marco Polo. After one glance at Lilla:
"What's happened?"
She showed him a look of hatred that embraced the whole room; for it was not only he, but also this abode of his, that had entrapped her. In accents that lashed him like whips she told him everything.
The old Frenchman sat down with a thump, and let his ruined face droop forward. She heard the hoarse rumble:
"What shall I do now?"
"Find him!"