"If the woodcock is as good as the canvasback," was her somewhat
irrelevant reply, "I shall call the evening a success, after all."
But Helena scarcely more than tasted her bird, and pushed back after a
time the broiled mushroom which Jean offered her gently.
"Does not your appetite remain?" I inquired. "Come, you must not break
Jean's heart doubly."
She only pushed back her chair. "I am sorry," said she, "but I want to
go back to the boat."
"Back to the boat! You astonish me. I thought escape from the Belle
Helène was the one wish of your heart these days."
"And so it is."
"Then, Helena, why not escape here and now?"
"What do you mean?"
"I do not mean for you to break your parole--I know you too well for
that. But give me additional parole, my dear girl. Give me your word.
Say that one word. Then we can rise here and announce to Mr. Davidson
and all the world and its newspapers that no crime has been done and
only a honeymoon has been begun. Come, Helena, all the world loves a
lover. All New Orleans will love us if you will raise your finger and
say the word."
I looked toward her. Her head was bent and tears were dropping from
her eyes, tears faithfully concealed by her kerchief. But she said no
word to me, and at her silence my own heart sank--sank until my
courage was quite gone, until I felt the return of a cold brutality.
Still I endeavored to be gentle with one who deserved naught of
gentleness.
"Do not hurry, Helena," I said. "We can return when you like. But the
salad--and the coffee! And see, you have not touched your wine."
"Take me back," she said, her voice low. "I hate you. Till the end of
the world I'll hate you."
"If I could believe that, Helena, it would matter nothing to me to go
a mile farther on any voyage, a foot farther to shield myself or you."
"Take me back," she said to me again. "I want to go to Aunt Lucinda."
"Jean," said I, a moment later when he reappeared. "Mademoiselle
wishes to see one more ice-box in the kitchen. We are in search of
something. May we go again?"
Jean spread out his arms in surprise, but pushed open the green door.
We thus passed, shielded by our screen and unobserved. Once within, I
grasped Jean firmly by the shoulder and pressed a ten dollar bill into
his hand, with other money for the reckoning.
"Take this, Jean, for yourself. We do not care to pass out at the
front, for certain reasons--do you comprehend? It is of Mademoiselle."
"It is of Mademoiselle? Ah, depend upon me. What can I do?"