She was hanging to my arm now, full of eagerness.
"And tell me now what M. de Perrencourt said to you. A plague on him, he spoke so low that I couldn't hear!"
A blush swept over her face; her eyes, losing the fire of excitement, dropped in confusion to the ground.
"I can't tell you," she murmured.
"Yet I know," said I. "And if you'll trust me, madame——"
"Ah, Simon, you know I trust you."
"Yet you were angry with me."
"Not angry—I had no right—I mean I had no cause to be angry. I—I was grieved."
"You need be grieved no longer, madame."
"Poor Simon!" said she very gently. I felt the lightest pressure on my hand, the touch of two slim fingers, speaking of sympathy and comradeship.