"No."
She added,—
"Come."
We crossed the courtyard, and we went out by a backdoor into the Rue Fontaine Molière; we reached the square of the Palais Royal. The fiacres were standing there as usual. We got into the first we came to.
"Where are we to go?" asked the driver.
She looked at me.
I answered,—
"I do not know."
"I know," she said.
Women always know where Providence lies.