Allows my finger to caress
Your lips’ contour and downiness
Provided I supply a glove.
“The World’s good word!—the Institute!
Guizot receives Montalembert!
Eh? Down the court three lampions flare;
Put forward your best foot!”
She quoted with a laugh from the poet whose brown books had been the backbone of their library, and then drew his head down to hers and whispered:
“Thank you, Paul. The world shall supply its glove—afterwards, when you come back to me.”
“But if I don’t come back . . . ?”