Strange to say, I forgot Lady Turnour and Sir Samuel until we saw the guide, to whom long ago Mr. Dane had called up a reassuring "Tout va bien!” Then, suddenly, the awful truth sprang into my mind.  All this time they had been waiting for me!  What would they say?  What would they do?

In my horror, I even forgot my righteous anger with the chauffeur.  “Oh!” I gasped. “The Turnours!”

Then Mr. Dane spoke kindly again.  “Don’t worry,” he said.  “It’s all right.  They’ve gone on.”

“In the car?” I cried.

“No.  Sir Samuel can’t drive the car.  And as Lady Turnour thought she had a chill, rather than wait for me to find you they took a carriage which was here, and drove down to St. Remy.  They’ll go on by rail to Avignon, and—­”

“There must have been a dreadful row!” I groaned.

“Not at all.  You’re not to worry.  Lady Turnour behaved like a cad, as usual, but what can you expect?  Sir Samuel did the best he could.  He would have liked to wait, but if he’d insisted she would have had hysterics.”

“How came there to be a carriage here?” I asked the guide.

“The gentleman paid three young men who had driven up in it a good sum to get it for himself,” he explained, “and they are walking down.  They are of Germany.”

“Was it a long time?” I went on.  “Oh, it must have been.  It’s nearly dark now, except for the moonlight.”

“It is perhaps an hour altogether since mademoiselle separated herself from the others,” the guide admitted.  “But they have been gone for more than half that time.  They did not delay long, after the little dispute with monsieur about the car.”

“Oh, there was a dispute!” I caught him up, wheeling upon the chauffeur.  “You must tell me.”

“It was nothing much,” he said, still very kindly, “and it was her ladyship’s fault, of course.  If you were plain and elderly she’d have more patience; but as it is, you’ve seen how quick she is to scold; so, of course, she was angry when she’d finished her grog and you didn’t turn up.”

“What did she say,” I asked.

He laughed.  “She was quite irrelevant.”

“I must know!”

“Well, she seemed to lay most of the blame on the colour of your hair and eyelashes.”

“She said—­”

“What could be expected of a girl that dyed her hair yellow and her eyelashes black?”

“Horrid woman!  You don’t believe I do, do you?”

“I must say it hadn’t occurred to me to think of it.”

Then I remembered how angry I was with him, and didn’t pursue that subject, but turned again to the other.  However, I made a mental note that there was one more thing to punish him for when I got the chance.

“What else did she say?”