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Updated: June 5, 2025
After supper Philidor went forth and bought supplies which were packed securely upon Clarissa, together with Philidor's knapsack and other personal belongings.
The sound of Yvonne's drum speedily drew a crowd and Philidor got out his sketching block and went to work on the nearest onlooker, a peasant girl of eighteen, in Norman headgear. She demurred at first, but she was pretty and knew it, and Philidor's tongue was persuasive, his nervous crayon eloquent. He was at his best here, and when the sketch was done he gave it to her with his compliments.
There was a difference in their relations, indefinable yet quite obvious to them both, a reserve on Philidor's part, marked by consideration and deference; on Yvonne's a gentleness and amiability which showed him how companionable she could be.
Philidor's long stride made the distance quickly, and before the pair were seated, he stood beside them. "Where are you going, Yvonne?" he asked quietly. "Who knows?" she laughed. "To Paris, perhaps." "Mademoiselle has consented to ride with me," said De Folligny coolly. "I trust we do not interfere with your plans." Philidor's eyes sought only hers. "You insist?" he asked of her.
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