The remainder worked like a charm, a charm of ancient Carcassonne, where, even in the tenth century young ladies must have fled with their heart’s desire. At nine o’clock the _rapide_ for Marseilles stopped for five minutes at the tiny station. At nine minutes to nine Jack with his suitcase, Cynthia with Serena’s belongings and a bunch of flowers for the bride-to-be, watched anxiously down the street. Then against the sunset appeared Serena, breathless, with dusty evening slippers, still in her dinner gown, but happy and incoherent with excitement. “Oh you treasures, both of you!” she cried. “Have we tickets? ... Goodness, there’s the train already ... She thinks I’m out buying some aspirin tablets ... I didn’t have time to leave a note on the pincushion ... My lamb, will you tell her I’ve gone? ...” and rattled on and on while they climbed into the compartment. Cynthia kept one anxious eye on the door. She didn’t know what would be the proper procedure should Aunt Anna appear at the station with the fire of suspicion in her eye. Cynthia had a wild momentary vision of herself grabbing the woman around her ample waist and hanging on until the train could have pulled out. But no one appeared. The conductor blew his little toy trumpet, shouted the usual warning, and at the last minute Cynthia still clasping the bridal bouquet had to run beside the carriage to fling it through the window. She had a final glimpse of Serena’s starry eyes, of Jack’s white smile. Then silence. Nothing. Cynthia came out of the station door to the deserted cobble street and twilight. “I wish it had happened to me,” she thought a little mournfully. “But maybe it will, soon,” and had no idea how very soon that would be. The moon hung like a burnished platter above the romantic old town, too beautiful, too unreal to be true. “Well,” thought Cynthia, going practical all of a sudden, “I guess somebody’s got to break the news to Auntie!” And started down the street toward the hotel of Miss Comstock. CHAPTER 7 _Siena_ THE RACING SNAIL Then at Marseilles, where Cynthia had planned to take train for Paris, for Cherbourg and a ship for home, she caught up with her mail. One specially fat and formidable envelope, with many seals, for which she had to sign papers and more papers, proved to contain, of all things, the long deferred check for the capture of Goncourt, the jewel thief.