And—Barbe? He was much interested in her and had a secret sympathy with her. Her eyes had confessed to him that her marriage had not been satisfactory. If he stood quite alone, perhaps that might be the ending presently, but it was no plan of his now, no desire, even.
Ah, Renée, you did not know what an unconscious rival you were! Barbe understood the situation much better, but she had a woman’s wisdom.
It had all passed through his mind like a flash.
“My little dear,” he said, toying with the soft hair, “set your heart at rest. I had not thought of marrying Barbe. And I could never give you up.”
“But—if you were going to be happier——”
“I am quite an old fellow now. I like my own way. A smoke in the chimney corner is my delight, and a little girl who sits there weaving pictures and adventures in the blaze. I am happy enough.”
Her heart gave a great bound. How could she help delighting in the confession! But that was selfish again. She would hold this exquisite pleasure on sufferance.
“Yes, I am happy enough at present. But I should like my little girl to marry some one who could be a son to me in my old age, who would not want to take her away, and we would keep step together when we turned the summit of the hill and were going down the decline. Only I shall have to sit on the top a good while waiting for you, there are so many years between.”
There was almost a merry sound in his voice.
“And now is the unhappiness all gone?” pressing her fondly to his side.