its former position. As he looked up he saw old Gely and his wife peering from their quarters with fat perturbed faces, and the little concierge and his wife still clutched together, peering through their curtains in a covert of bright frightened eyes.
They got out into the street at last. In the Rue Bonaparte they stopped a taxi drilling through. When they reached Montmartre again the night was breaking in grey light behind the Church of Sacré-Cœur. After further drinks of strong bad cognac, they piled out of the place into another taxi, and went hurtling back through Paris. By the time they arrived at the studio full light had come.
The women were waiting up for them. Starwick mumbled something and, holding his hand over his mouth, rushed across the room into the bathroom and vomited. When he was empty, he staggered out, reeled towards the couch where Ann slept, and toppled on it, and was instantly sunk in senseless sleep.
Elinor regarded him for a while with an air at once contemplative and amused. “And now,” she said cheerfully, “to awake the Sleeping Beauty from his nap.” She smiled her fine bright smile, but the lines about her mouth were grimly set, and her eyes were hard. She approached the couch, and looking down upon Starwick’s prostrate and bedraggled form, she said sweetly: “Get up, darling. It’s breakfast-time.”
He groaned feebly and rolled over on his side.
“Up, up, up, my lamb!” Her tone was dulcet, but the hand that grasped his collar and pulled him to a sitting position was by no means gentle. “We are waiting for you, darling. The day’s at morn, the hour draws close, it’s almost time. Remember, dear, we’re starting out for Rheims at nine o’clock.”
“Oh, God!” groaned Starwick wretchedly. “Don’t ask me to do that! Anything, anything but that. I can’t! I’ll go anywhere with you if you just leave me alone until tomorrow.” He flopped back on the bed again.
“Sorry, precious,” she said in a light and cheerful tone, as hard as granite, “but it’s too late now! You should have thought of that before. Our plans are made, we’re going—and you,” suddenly her voice hardened formidably, “you’re coming with us.” She looked at him a moment longer with hard eyes, bent and grasped him by the collar, and roughly jerked him up to a sitting position again.
“Francis,” she said sternly, “pull yourself together now and get up! We’re going to have no more of this nonsense!”
He groaned feebly
