There was nothing Vada could do but alight.
She stood under the colonnade of the Rue de Rivoli and looked at Pierre.
“Will you come in – with me?” she asked.
She could not bear to say goodbye and could not bear to think that this might be the last time she would ever see him.
He seemed so aloof and in a way autocratic, despite the strangeness of his dress.
Yet he was the same man she had talked to at dinner and who had brought her an ecstasy that she had not believed existed when he had kissed her by the Seine.
“That is another thing you should not ask of any man who brings you home,” he declared.
“It is – wrong?” Vada asked in a bewildered voice.
“Again, somewhat indiscreet,”
“But you are – different.”
“I am glad you think so,” he answered. “Perhaps one day you will realise how
