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"No, no!" he whispered fiercely. She stood up and the abrupt movement pushed the table gratingly across the floor. The throbbing spell of the flesh was snapped like a stretched string, and the scene over. The landlord, roused from his doze, stumbled in. Chirac had nothing but the bill as a reward for his pains. He was baffled. They left the restaurant, silently, with a foolish air.
"Truly, Chirac," she exclaimed, with a cajoling voice, "you are not reasonable." "Nevertheless it is like that!" he said with decision. "Eh, well!" she turned on him menacingly. "It will not be like that! You understand me? You will stay. And you will pay me when you can. Otherwise we shall quarrel. Do you imagine I shall tolerate your childishness? Just because you were angry last night "
"I say!" he stopped her, as, nervous at the prospect before her, she was leaving the room. "I was thinking of going to Auxerre to- day." "Auxerre?" she repeated, wondering under what circumstances she had recently heard that name. Then she remembered: it was the place of execution of the murderer Rivain. "Yes," he said. "Chirac has to go. He's on a newspaper now.
As the dinner finished, Gerald's pose of a calm, disinterested, scientific observer of humanity gradually broke down. He could not maintain it in front of the increasing license of the scene round the table. He was at length somewhat ashamed of having exposed his wife to the view of such an orgy; his restless glance carefully avoided both Sophia and Chirac.
Three waiters in a group watched it with an impartial sporting interest. The English voices grew more menacing. Then suddenly the whiskered Englishman, jerking his head towards the door, said more quietly: "Hadn't we better settle thish outside?" "At your service!" said Gerald, rising. The owner of the vermilion cloak lifted her eyebrows to Chirac in fatigued disgust, but she said nothing.
"It is the first time you come Paris, madame?" Chirac addressed himself to Sophia, in limping, timorous English. "Yes," she giggled. He bowed again. Chirac, with his best compliments, felicitated Gerald upon his marriage. "Don't mention it!" said the humorous Gerald in English, amused at his own wit; and then: "What about this execution?"
Chirac returned as unexpectedly as he had gone; an expedition for his paper had occupied him. With his lips he urged her to go, but his eyes spoke differently. He had, one afternoon, a mood of candid despair, such as he would have dared to show only to one in whom he felt great confidence. "They will come to Paris," he said; "nothing can stop them. And ... then ...!" He gave a cynical laugh.
He could not deny it, for the two nurses had been questioned, and had told all. Madame la Duchesse de Berry drew near her end during this debate, and neither Chirac nor Garus could prevent it. She lasted, however, the rest of the day, and did not die until about midnight. The marvel is that nothing came of this, and that he remained the doctor of M. le Duc d'Orleans as before!
They saw towers and spires, and Chirac talked to her slowly and carefully of the cathedral and the famous churches. He said that the stained glass was marvellous, and with much care he catalogued for her all the things she must visit. They crossed a river. She felt as though she was stepping into the middle age.
"Surely he could not have gone mad like this all in a day or two! But I never noticed anything. No; honestly I never noticed anything!" And just as her behaviour in the restaurant had shaken Chirac's confidence in his knowledge of the other sex, so now the singular behaviour of Chirac shook hers. She was taken aback. She was frightened, though she pretended not to be frightened.
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