She gave me a little sign rejecting the offered coffee. Lackaday took his cup and drank it off at one gulp. He looked at his wrist watch, the only remaining insignia of the British soldier.
"Time for our tram, Elodie."
"C'est vrai?" He held his wrist towards her. "Oui, mon Dieu! Miladi--" She funked the difficult "Lady Auriol."
"Au revoir, Madame," said Auriol shaking hands.
"Trop honorée," said Elodie, somewhat defiantly. "Au revoir, Miladi." She made an awkward little bow. "Et toi," she extended a careless left hand to Bakkus.
"I will see you to the lift," said I.
We walked down the terrace in silence to the salon door just inside which was the lift which took one down some four stories to the street. Two things were obvious: the perturbation of the simple Lackaday and the jealousy of Elodie.
"Au revoir, monsieur, et merci," she said, with over emphasized politeness, as we stood at the lift gates.
"Good-bye, old chap," said Lackaday and gripped my hand hard.
As soon as I returned to the end of the terrace, Bakkus rose and took his leave. Auriol and I were alone. Of course other humans were clustering round tables all the length of the terrace. But we had our little end corner to ourselves. I sat down next to her.