But she was sure he hadn't so much as
blinked, all that time. If a man could die standing up, she should think
he was dead. She wished he were. If he stayed there all day--as he had a
perfect right to do--she, Madame Mauer, would have to be sent home to a
_maison de sante_.--And she began to make guttural noises. As Felicite
Mauer had seen, in her time, things that no self-respecting _maison de
sante_ would stand for, I began to believe that I should have to do
something. I rose reluctantly. I was about fed up with Ching Po, myself.
I helped Madame Mauer out of her chair, and fetched my hat. Then I looked
for Follet, to apologize for leaving him. I had neither seen nor heard
him move, but he was waiting for us on the porch. He could be as
noiseless on occasion as Ching Po.
"You'd better not come into this," I suggested; for there was no staying
power, I felt, in Follet.
He seemed to shiver all over with irritation. "Oh, damn his yellow soul,
I'll marry her!" He spat it out--with no sweetness, this time.
Madame Mauer swung round to him like a needle to the pole. "You may save
yourself the _corvee_. She won't have you. Not if any of the things she
has been sobbing out are true. She loves the other man--down by the
docks. _Your_ compatriot." She indicated me.
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