“The saints only know how glad I am to get home again!” and the strong voice was full of rapture.
“And you don’t know yourself?” she interrupted quickly.
“Ah, you must not take me up like that!” laughing. “I doubt if even the saints could understand my delight. No one but myself truly knows. Is that better?”
The torch began to flame, and its red light threw him out boldly. He seemed to have grown taller—no, it was not that, for Uncle Gaspard still towered above him, but he was stouter, and the way he carried himself had in it a new character and power. And the indescribable something in his face that no girl could read at a glance, the shaping and tone experience gives when one has been learning to rule his fellow-men and to depend upon himself.
She was silent and a warm color played about her face. He took both hands, drew her nearer to him, and suddenly she was afraid of the intense personality. Her rosy lips quivered, her eyes drooped, her breath came rapidly.
“Haven’t you a word of welcome for André?” asked Uncle Gaspard, surprised.
“I was confused by the light, and—you are quite sure it is Monsieur Valbonais?” turning to her uncle. “For he seems to have changed mysteriously.”
“And you have not changed at all. Nothing has changed. M. Denys, light your pipe and sit in the corner, and I will take this one. Ma’m’selle Renée, sit here in the middle.” He pushed the chair and placed her gently in it. “Now we can almost believe that I have not been away at all, only there is the great gladness of coming back.”
“Has the time passed so quickly, monsieur?”
There was the faintest suggestion of mischief in her tone.