“Nicette!” he said aloud.
She gave a strangled gasp and faced about, her eyes scared, a hand upon her bosom. She had been disposing on a slab a little gift of spring chickens and some household preserves.
“Did I startle you?” said Ned. “But you knew I was returned and must surely come and see you.”
“Monsieur, you steal upon me like a ghost,” she muttered.
“Of what, girl? Of no regret, I hope?”
Her cheek was gathering a little dawn of colour.
“All ghosts of the past are sorrowful,” she said low.
“True,” he answered, seriously and gently. “I did not mean to awaken sad memories. And thou hast never had news of the little one?”
“Never, monsieur.”
“It is lamentable.”