The man looked up at the station clock. "In two minutes. Monsieur est plaće?"
"Pas encore."
"Vous n'avez que le temps." Then, after a look at Maisie, "Monsieur veut-il que je les prenne?" the man inquired.
Sir Claude turned back to her. "Veux-tu bien qu'il en prenne?"
It was the most extraordinary thing in the world: in the intensity of her excitement she not only, by illumination, understood all their French, but fell into it with an active perfection. She addressed herself straight to the porter. "Prenny, prenny. Oh, prenny!"
"Ah, si mademoiselle le veut—!" He waited there for the money.
But Sir Claude only stared—stared at her with his pale face. "You have chosen, then? You'll let her go?"
Maisie carried her eyes wistfully to the train, where, amid cries of "En voiture, en voiture!" heads were at windows and doors were banging loud. The porter was pressing. "Oh, vous n'avez plus le temps!"
"It 's going—it 's going!" cried Maisie.
They watched it move, they watched it
