On the lawn at the end of a walk hedged with trimmed trees and Bengal roses, Andrea suddenly perceived one of these men who, on seeing her, rose from stooping over his spade and saluted her with more grace and politeness than a common man could do. Looking she recognized Gilbert, whom she had seen from a child on her father’s estate. She blushed in spite of herself, for the presence of this ex-retainer seemed a very curious kindness of destiny.
He repeated the salute and she had to return it as she passed on. But she was too courageous and straight-forward a creature to resist a movement of the spirit and leave a question unanswered of her disturbed soul.
She retraced her steps, and Gilbert, who had lost color and was eyeing her ominously, returned to life and made a spring to arrive before her.
“How do you happen to be here, Gilbert?” she began.
“A man must live, and honestly.”
“Well, you ought to be happy in such a position!”
“I am very happy indeed to be here.”
“Who helped you to the place?”
“Dr. Jussieu, a patron of mine. He is a friend of another patron, the great Rousseau.”
“Good luck, Gilbert,” said Andrea, preparing to go.