"Home?"
The lady shrugged her shoulders. "It looked like it. I did not ask her. She would go—with many thanks, but with great resolution.—What has happened to you?" she went on smoothly.
I deliberated. Should I tell madame anything or should I not? I decided not to. "Ching Po went back to the hotel," I said. "I don't believe he meant to annoy you."
She let the subject drop loyally. And, indeed, with Ching Po and French Eva both out of the way, she had become quite normal again. Of course, if I would not let her question me, I could not in fairness question her. So we talked on idly, neither one, I dare say, quite sure of the other, and both ostensibly content to wait. Or she may have had reasons as strong as mine for wishing to forget the affair of the morning.
I grew soothed and oblivious. The thing receded. I was just thinking of going home when Follet appeared at the gate. Then I realized how futile had been our common reticence.
"Is Eva here?" he shouted before he reached us.
"She went home long ago." Madame Maür answered quietly, but I saw by her quick shiver that she had not been at peace, all this time.
"She's not there. The place is all shut up."
"Doesn't she usually attend these festivities up the hill?" I asked.
His look went through me like a dagger. "Not today, you fool!"