"Now look at me. I want to see whether you care for me."
And Renée, standing up after kissing him once more, moved back from her father, still holding his head between her hands. They gazed at each other lovingly and earnestly, looking into one another's eyes. The French window was open and the light, the scents and the various noises from the garden penetrated into the room. A beam of sunshine darted on to the table, lighted on the china and made the glass glitter. It was bright, cheerful weather and a faint breeze was stirring; the shadows of the leaves trembled slightly on the floor. A vague sound of wings fluttering in the trees and of birds sporting among the flowers could be heard in the distance.
"Only we two; how nice!" exclaimed Renée, unfolding her serviette. "Oh, the table is too large; I am too far away," and taking her knife and fork she went and sat next her father. "As I have my father all to myself to-day I'm going to enjoy my father," and so saying she drew her chair still nearer to him.
"Ah, you remind me of the time when you always wanted to have your dinner in my pocket. But you were eight years old then."
Renée began to laugh.
"I was scolded yesterday," said M. Mauperin, after a minute's silence, putting his knife and fork down on his plate.
"Oh!" remarked Renée, looking up at the ceiling in an innocent way and then letting her eyes fall on her father with a sly look in them such as one sees in the eyes of a cat. "Really, poor papa! Why were you scolded? What had you done?"
"Yes, I should advise you to ask me that again; you know better than I do myself why I was scolded. What do you mean, you dreadful child?"
"Oh, if you are going to lecture me, papa, I shall get up and—I shall kiss you."
She half rose as she said this, but M. Mauperin interrupted her, endeavouring to speak in a severe tone: