“Mon ami—I know human nature. Throw together a boy like young Renauld and a beautiful girl like Mademoiselle Marthe, and the result is almost inevitable. Then, the quarrel! It was money or a woman and, remembering Léonie’s description of the lad's anger, I decided on the latter. So I made my guess—and I was right.”
“And that was why you warned me against setting my heart on the lady? You already suspected that she loved young Renauld?”
Poirot smiled.
“At any rate—I saw that she had anxious eyes. That is how I always think of Mademoiselle Daubreuil—as the girl with the anxious eyes.”
His voice was so grave that it impressed me uncomfortably.
“What do you mean by that, Poirot?”
“I fancy, my friend, that we shall see before very long. But I must start.”
“You've oceans of time.”
“Perhaps—perhaps. But I like plenty of leisure at the station. I do not wish to rush, to hurry, to excite myself.”
“At all events,” I said, rising, “I will come and see you off.”
"You will do nothing of the sort. I forbid it.”
He was so peremptory that I stared at him in surprise. He nodded emphatically.
“I mean it, mon ami. Au revoir! You permit that I embrace you? Ah, no, I forget that it is not the English custom. Une poignee de main, alors.”
I felt rather at a loose end after Poirot had left me. I strolled down the beach, and watched the bathers, without feeling energetic enough to join them. I rather fancied that Cinderella might be disporting herself among them in some wonderful costume, but I saw no signs of her. I strolled aimlessly along the sands toward the farther end of the town. It occurred to me that, after all, it would only be decent feeling on my part to inquire after the girl. And it would save trouble in the end. The matter would then be finished with. There would be no need for me to trouble about her any
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