“Oh, you are not old! I will not have you growing old. Why, the fathers with their grown-up children were there. And some women have grandchildren. Good-night, André,” nodding to him.
André took his dismissal cheerfully.
Renée crawled in Gaspard’s lap and put her soft arms about his neck, laid her cheek to his.
“Oh,” she cried in a tone of pathos, “I do not want you ever to get old! You are just right now.”
“My dear, do you want always to stay fifteen?”
“Yes, I should be glad to. Oh, what makes the world whirl round so! And I shall be sixteen in the summer, and then—no, I won’t go on. Can’t you take something, do something——”
“There was a man once who fell asleep and slept for years. When he awoke his friends were dead, or had gone away——”
“Oh, hush! hush! I do not mean anything so dreadful as that,” she entreated.
“Then we must go on and take all the pleasure we can to-day, or to-night—though I believe it is to-morrow morning now, and you must run to bed.”
She kissed him and turned slowly. She wanted to ask some curious questions, but they were vague and would not readily shape themselves into words.