Great, deep sobs seem almost to tear
her frail little body to pieces. She goes deadly white, and sometimes
ends up by a fit of trembling as if she were in an ague.
"Have you really ordered a motor cab?" I asked.
"Yes," said she. "I rang for a waiter, and sent him down to tell the big
porter at the front door to get me one. Then I gave him five francs, and
said I did not want anybody to know, because I must visit a poor, sick
friend who had written to say she was in great trouble, but wished to
tell no one except me that she'd come to Paris."
"I shouldn't have thought such an elaborate story necessary to a
waiter," I remarked, tossing up my chin a little, for I don't like
Lisa's subterranean ways. But this time she didn't even try to defend
herself.
"Let's get ready at once," she said. "I'm going to put on my long
travelling cloak, to cover up this dress, and wear my black toque, with
a veil. I suppose you'll do the same? Then we can slip out, and down the
'service' stairs. The carriage is to wait for us at the side entrance."
I looked at her, trying to read her secretive little face. "Lisa, are
you planning to go somewhere in particular, do something you want to
'spring' on me when it's too late for me to get out of it?"
"How horrid of you to be so suspicious of me! You _do_ hurt my feelings!
I haven't had an inspiration yet, so I can't make a plan.
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