"That's right," said the duchess. "Take this, please, Mr. Aycon."

"This" was a small handbag. She gave it to me, and began to walk toward
the cart, where Jean was placidly smoking a long black cheroot.

"You wished to speak to me?" I suggested, as I walked by her.

"I can do it," said the duchess, reaching the cart, "as we go along."

Even Jean took his cheroot from his lips. I jumped back two paces.

"I beg your pardon!" I exclaimed, "As we go along, did you say?"

"It will be better," said the duchess, getting into the cart (unassisted
by me, I am sorry to say). "Because he may find out I'm gone, and come
after us, you know."

Nothing seemed more likely; I was bound to admit that.

"Get in, Mr. Aycon," continued the duchess. And then she suddenly began to
talk English. "I told him I shouldn't stay in the house if Mlle. Delhasse
came. He didn't believe me; well, he'll see now. I couldn't stay, could I?
Why don't you get in?"

Half dazed, I got in. I offered no opinion on the question of Mlle.
Delhasse: to begin with, I knew very little about it; in the second place
there seemed to me to be a more pressing question.

"Quick, Jean!" said the duchess.