“Why do you want to know?”
“But you said you were in love with me.” Her tone had in it the daintiest bit of upbraiding.
“Yes, when I ran away with you and Wawataysee. When I watched over you day and night. When I do your bidding now as if I was your slave.”
“There’s another kind of love.”
“Ma’m’selle, that’s too sacred to talk about lightly.”
Dragon, the great hound, was watching at the gate. He made no objection when André opened it, but he looked up and down the street.
“Your master will come presently. He is all right,” said André. “Or, if you like to, go for him.”
Dragon signified that he did. André opened the door. Mère Lunde was asleep in her chair. She had piled several logs on the fire, and they had just burst into a blaze that glorified the apartment. Another hound lay half asleep in the warmth, but he beat his tail to let them know that he heard.
Renée threw off her wraps, took out her comb and shook her hair over her shoulders. What a shining mass it was! Her eyes were softly bright in their quartz-like glow. André thought she had not looked as beautiful the whole evening, and he was glad without knowing just why.
“Good-night,” he said abruptly. “Friga will see that no harm befalls you.”