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Meanwhile " and she pointed her gauntleted hand toward the open doorway, "life shall pay me one more sensation." He shrugged his shoulders and followed. The machine was already on the lawn surrounded by Hermia's guests and preliminary experiments had proven that all was ready. Hermia climbed into the seat unaided, while Markham stood at one side and watched the propellers started.
It may be noticed that Theseus and Hippolyta and their marriage festivities are personages and events which make up a decorative external sort of frame for the whole play, but that the centre of the action takes its start, primarily, from the conflict of Hermia's love for Lysander with her father's choice of Demetrius, and, secondarily, from the clash of Helena's love for Demetrius with his suit for Hermia.
When she sat, Hermia put an arm around the child and kissed her softly on the brow. Stella looked up at her timidly and then put her sinewy brown hand in Hermia's softer ones and there let it stay. Hermia had made a friend. Cleofonte looked up from his chicken bone and shook his huge shoulders. "You are sorry, Signorina? Jesu mio! So am I. But what would you have? One must eat."
The thought of going to his club to dine was repellant to him. The story that Mrs. Hammond had let him read was not common property and, though none of his acquaintances would have had the bad taste to mention his connection with it, his appearance among them must revive its disagreeable details, at Hermia's expense.
Without a word he sat on the step of the porch and followed her example, munching his toast and sipping his coffee with grave deliberateness, his eyes following hers to the distant shore. Hermia's appetite had come with eating and she had discovered that his coffee was delicious. She made a belated resolution that, if she must stay here, she would do it with a good grace.
Had she not taken the pains so long ago to make him understand that marriage was the last thing in the world she would ever think of again? Their agreement on the fundamentals of independence had been one of their strongest ties. That kiss in Hermia's rose garden meant nothing to Olga or to him.
In spite of the damning facts she had discovered, the evidence of Madam Bordier and Monsieur Duchanel, of the peasant women at Tillires and of Pierre de Folligny, the testimony of Hermia's pale face at the shooting lodge at Alenon and of her confession which she had not thought of doubting, the belief had slowly gained force in her mind that Markham had not lied to her.
He had not dared to look at it. But when the bell stopped ringing, Hermia's voice was speaking softly. "Do you want me to go, Philidor?" Her tone still mocked and he did not turn toward her. "No but you had better," he murmured. "Suppose I refused to go to Paris. What would you do?" He did not reply. "Could you treat me so? Is it my fault that you you fell in love with me?
They obtruded unbearably, proclaiming their importance in terms which there was no denying. Vagabondia, it seemed, was a forgotten country. Had Hermia forgotten? Was his idyl, the one dream of his life, to end in waking? Was Hermia's mad excursion but another item in the long list of entertainments by means of which she exacted from life payment in diversion which she considered her due?
A brass bell from Vallcy! Still he did not understand. He took the object up again and scrutinized it, its meaning dawning slowly. Vallcy! That was the village where he and Hermia had stayed with Mre Gugou. There was the garden of the golden roses where The bell! It was from Hermia's head-dress the belled cap of the Femme Orchestre! He knew it now. It was a token.
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