"Don't bother about the carburetter. It's all right."
"Thank you," said I, and hung up the tube.
Evidently the Countess Rosalie was touchy about her car. Or perhaps she felt that some slight compliment was due her, rather than impending doubts. As if she wanted to show what she could do when she really tried she brushed the arm of a bicyclist with her mudguard, then swept past a stone-cart on the wrong side of the road, and got a stream of bad talk from the carter, to say nothing of a narrow escape from knocking the head off the leader, which swung to the right from instinct at the sound of the motor.
It was a wasted effort of hers though, for Chu-Chu fooled us again. Instead of turning sharply to the left at the crossroads he held straight on, slowing a bit to let the stream of cars go past. The result was that we drew up right behind him, and he looked back and saw us. After we had followed him across the big road from Suresnes to Versailles he looked back again, then slowed down.
"Keep right on," said I sharply to Rosalie.
"I am not a fool!" she answered, and gave her speed-lever a vicious little jerk. I could feel the three pairs of eyes on us as we passed. It was a pretty serious moment, and we were in danger of spoiling everything, for we had taken a big, unnecessary détour from Paris to go to any point where that road would take us. There was only one thing to do, and I did it. Leaning out of the window, I called to Rosalie to stop. She cut off the gas and braked viciously.
