All the time that Joyce was pinning her treasure securely in her pocket
and putting on her hat and jacket, all the time that she was walking
demurely down the road with Marie, she was planning different ways in
which to spend her fortune.

"Mademoiselle is very quiet," ventured Marie, remembering that one of
her duties was to keep up an improving conversation with her
little mistress.

"Yes," answered Joyce, half impatiently; "I've got something so lovely
to think about, that I'd like to go back and sit down in the garden and
just think and think until dark, without being interrupted by anybody."

This was Marie's opportunity. "Then mademoiselle might not object to
stopping in the garden of the villa which we are now approaching," she
said. "My friend, Clotilde Robard, is housekeeper there, and I have a
very important message to deliver to her."

Joyce had no objection. "But, Marie," she said, as she paused at the
gate, "I think I'll not go in. It is so lovely and warm out here in the
sun that I'll just sit here on the steps and wait for you."

Five minutes went by and then ten. By that time Joyce had decided how to
spend every centime in the whole twenty francs, and Marie had not
returned. Another five minutes went by. It was dull, sitting there
facing the lonely highway, down which no one ever seemed to pass. Joyce
stood up, looked all around, and then slowly sauntered down the road a
short distance.