I had been for a saunter through the town. Several times I had returned before I found Fiesole beneath the fig-tree in the courtyard, seated at the table with a paper spread out in front of her. She looked up swiftly at sound of my footstep and threw me a smile, gathering herself in to make room for me beside her. When I stood over her, she lifted up her face with childish eagerness as though we had not kissed already more than once that morning. “Shall I order déjeuner out here?”

She nodded. “Where else, but in the sunshine?” When I came back from giving the order, her red-gold head was bent again above the paper.

“Something interesting?”

“Rather.” She raised her green eyes mischievously. “It’s all up. We’ll be collared within the hour.”

“What’s all up? Who’s got the right to collar us?”

“Paris thinks it has, the whole of France thinks it has, but most particularly Monsieur Georges thinks he has, and so does the theatre-management.”

“Let ’em try. We don’t care.”

“But, old boy, I do care a little. You see, I shouldn’t have been here now if it hadn’t been for Monsieur Georges, Paris, and the rest of them. They gave me my chance; going off like this has left them in the lurch. It isn’t playing the game, as I understand it.”

“If it’s damages for a broken contract they’re after, I’ll settle that for you.”

She smiled mysteriously and, bowing her head above the paper, read me extracts, throwing in, now and then, her own vivacious comments.

It appeared that up to the last moment the theatre-management had expected her and had allowed the audience to assemble. They had delayed matters for half an hour while they sent out messengers to search for her. When the crowd grew restless, they had commenced the performance with an under-study. But the people would have none of her; they rose up in their places stamping and threatening, shouting for La Fiesole. The curtain had been rung down and Monsieur Georges had come forward, weeping and wringing his hands, saying that La Fiesole had been kidnaped by an admirer that morning. Pandemonium broke loose. The theatre for a time was in danger of being wrecked; but the police were summoned and got the audience out, and the money refunded.

The journalist’s story followed of the unknown Englishman who, a few nights before, had stood up in his box applauding when everyone else had grown silent; and how the same Englishman, one night previously, had created a scene between himself and La Fiesole at a café in the Champs Elysées—a scene which had terminated by them going away together.

“Make you out quite a desperate character, don’t they, old darling?” she drawled, looking up into my eyes, laughing.

I did my best to share her levity, but I was secretly annoyed at so much publicity. Taking the paper from her, I patted her on the shoulder. “Come, drink up your coffee, little woman; it’s getting cold. Why waste time over all this nonsense? You’re out of it. It’s all ended.”

“But it isn’t. Paris won’t let it be ended. They’re making more row about me than they did about La Gioconda. They’ve offered a reward of five thousand francs for my recovery.”

“And if they did find us, they couldn’t do anything. Discovery won’t be easy.”

“Won’t it? We were seen yesterday going together towards St. Cloud; they’ve got the number of my car and particulars of my dress from Marie.”

“But didn’t you warn Marie?”

“Silly fellow, how should I? Didn’t know myself what I was going to do when we started—at least I didn’t know positively.”

“Humph!”

“Ripping, isn’t it, for a chap like you as ‘as allaws lived decent and ‘oped to die respected? Dannie, Dannie, you’re a regular Robert the Devil—only I stole you, and nobody’ll ever believe it.”

“It doesn’t matter what they say about me; it’s your good name that matters.—I promised yesterday never to speak another word about marriage. May I break my promise?”

“You’ve done it. Go on, John Bunyan.”

“Well, here’s my plan: that we motor through to Cherbourg and skip over to Southampton.”

“And then?”

“Get a special license in the shortest time possible. When we’re discovered, you’ll be Lady Cardover.”

“But it isn’t necessary that I should be Lady Cardover. I’m not ashamed of anything. Are you?”

“Perhaps not; but there’s nothing to be gained by dodging the conventions. I ought to know; I’ve been dodging ’em ever since I can remember. I’ve come to see that there’s something grand about conventions; they’re a sort of wall to protect someone you love dearly from attack. We’re man and wife already by everything that’s sacred; but we shall never be securely happy unless we’re married.”

Our meal was finished. We wandered off into the orchard ............