Book Four The Other Man Chapter 21 The Flight

Now the carriage swaying under the mound of Betty's luggage starts for the Gare du Nord. In the Rue Notre Dame des Champs Betty opens her mouth to say, "Gare de Lyons." No: this is his street. Better cross it as quickly as may be. At the Church of St. Germain--yes.

The coachman smiles at the new order: like the concierge he scents an intrigue, whips up his horse, and swings round to the left along the prettiest of all the boulevards, between the full-leafed trees. Past Thirion's. Ah!

That thought, or pang, or nausea--Betty doesn't quite know what it is--keeps her eyes from the streets till the carriage is crossing the river. Why--there is Notre Dame! It ought to be miles away. Suppose Vernon should have been leaning out of his window when she passed across the street, seen her, divined her destination, followed her in the fleetest carriage accessible? The vision of a meeting at the station: "Why are you going away? What have I done?" The secret of this, her great renunciation--the whole life's sacrifice to that life's idol--honor, wrung from her. A hand that would hold hers--under pretence of taking her bundle of rugs to carry.--She wished the outermost rug were less shabby! Vernon's voice.

"But I can't let you go. Why ruin two lives--nay, three? For it is you only that I--"

Dismissed.

It is very hot. Paris is the hottest place in the world. Betty is glad she brought lavender water in her bag. Wishes she had put on her other hat. This brown one is hot; and besides, if Vernon were to be at the station. Interval. Dismissed.