“I did not see his face,” Madame St. Lo answered. “But he waved to you. That I saw.”
The Countess had a thought which slowly flooded her face with crimson. Madame St. Lo saw the change, saw the tender light which on a sudden softened the other’s eyes; and the same thought occurred to her. And having a mind to punish her companion for her reticence—for she did not doubt that the girl knew more than she acknowledged—she proposed that they should return and find Badelon, and learn if he had seen the man.
“Why?” Madame Tavannes asked. And she stood stubbornly, her head high. “Why should we?”
“To clear it up,” the elder woman answered mischievously. “But perhaps, it were better to tell your husband and let his men search the coppice.”
The colour left the Countess’s face as quickly as it had come. For a moment she was tongue-tied. Then—
“Have we not had enough of seeking and being sought?” she cried, more bitterly than befitted the occasion. “Why should we hunt him? I am not timid, and he did me no harm. I beg, Madame, that you will do me the favour of being silent on the matter.”
“Oh, if you insist? But what a pother”
“I did not see him, and he did not see me,” Madame de Tavannes answered vehemently. “I fail, therefore, to understand why we should harass him, whoever he be. Besides, M. de Tavannes is waiting for us.”
“And M. de Tignonville—is following us!” Madame St. Lo muttered under her breath. And she made a face at the other’s back.
She was silent, however. They returned to the others and nothing of import, it would seem, had happened. The soft summer air played on the meal laid under the willows as it had played on the meal of yesterday laid under the
