She wrung her hands to him.
“What is it? Everything seems wrong. I saw it in your face last night, the moment you and he came in—and me near crazed with joy to hear you at the door again—O, Cherry! after all these months!”
He smoothed the hair from her temples.
“That’s it, dear heart,” he whispered, “after all these months. Well, rest satisfied; I’d not been in Turin twelve hours before I came to you.”
She pouted; gave a little tearful laugh.
“O, a fine coming! to charge me with a tipsy gentleman.”
“Poor Louis-Marie!”
“Is that his name?”
“Saint-Péray to you, Madam, if you please. I’ll tell you of him in a moment. He’d lost his head, but not his legs.”
“La, now! he won’t bless its finding, I’m thinking. I warrant it aches this morning.”