“I knew you would catch fire when once I got you started!” he cried.
Suddenly a voice struck on my ear—a clear, pleasant voice:
“Was he slow to catch fire, my dear Gustave?”
I started. Gustave looked round.
“It is she,” he said. “Where is she?”
“Was he slow to catch fire?” asked the voice again. “Well, he has but just come near the flame”—and a laugh followed the words.
“Slow to light is long to burn,” said I, turning to the bank on the left side of the road, for it was thence that the voice came.
A moment later a little figure in white darted down into the road, laughing and panting. She seized Gustave’s hand.
“I ran so hard to meet you!” she cried.
“And have you brought Claire with you?” he asked.