Between them they drove me to Madame Mauer's.
The lady bustled about at once to supply my needs. Her husband was still
away, and lunch there was not in any proper sense. But she fed me with
odd messes and endless cups of coffee. Hunger disappeared leaving
curiosity starkly apparent.
"How's Eva?" I asked.
Madame Mauer pursed her lips. "She went away an hour ago."
"Home?"
The lady shrugged her shoulders. "It looked like it. I did not ask her.
She would go--with many thanks, but with great resolution.--What has
happened to you?" she went on smoothly.
I deliberated. Should I tell madame anything or should I not? I decided
not to. "Ching Po went back to the hotel," I said. "I don't believe he
meant to annoy you."
She let the subject drop loyally. And, indeed, with Ching Po and French
Eva both out of the way, she had become quite normal again. Of course,
if I would not let her question me, I could not in fairness question
her. So we talked on idly, neither one, I dare say, quite sure of the
other, and both ostensibly content to wait. Or she may have had reasons
as strong as mine for wishing to forget the affair of the morning.
I grew soothed and oblivious. The thing receded. I was just thinking of
going home when Follet appeared at the gate. Then I realized how futile
had been our common reticence.
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