"Jean," she said ingenuously, "you know we took the cottage without much formality as far as any definite length of time was concerned. Of course we expected to stay longer, and if all this had not happened we certainly should have done so. So, do you think, when we speak to Marie-Louise about going, that she would be perfectly satisfied with a month's rent? I told father I would ask you."
"You have not told Marie-Louise then that you are going to-morrow?" he asked slowly.
"How could we--when we did not know ourselves until a little while ago?" she answered.
"No; that is so," he said. Then, with a short, conscious laugh: "I have not spoken to Marie-Louise myself."
"Of course you haven't!" she returned quickly, "And you have been wise."
"Marie-Louise is not blind," said Myrna quietly. "It is far better that she should have seen things for herself--and she could not help seeing them during the last week."
"You know what I mean, Jean," she said gravely. "That she must have seen what everybody else sees--what you see yourself. That if she ever had any idea of going to Paris with you, it is quite out of the question. It is different now--everything is changed. You are not a fisherman any longer; you have a great place to take in the world that she cannot take beside you. A week in Paris and, even if neither of you see it now, you would both see it only too bitterly and clearly then. For both your sakes it is better settled now."
Jean was staring across the room to where, outside, the crowd was packed densely in the road. Had he not thought of just those things that she had been saying? Had he not thought of them all week? They were true; but still there was Marie-Louise who--what was that? They were cheering him there outside--it made his blood tingle, he felt the mad elation of it, his soul seemed to leap out to meet the acclaim!
"But that is not all, Jean"--she was speaking again. "There is another thing, something you owe to--oh, how shall I say it?--to your country, and--" She stopped suddenly and caught his arm. "Listen!" she breathed. "Listen!"
It was Bidelot, the great Academician, his voice raised in impassioned words. Through the window they could see him standing, bare-headed, in the automobile.