Below her seethed a crowd of vehicles of every description and the babel that came up to her was as the roar of a great torrent. It seemed to sweep away all coherent thought, for she smiled as she gazed downwards and her look held interest in the busy scene even though the hint of melancholy lingered. There was certainly plenty to occupy her, and it was not in her nature to be bored.
But yet at the opening of a door in the room behind her, she turned very swiftly, and in a moment her face was alight with ardent welcome.
"Ah! Here you are!" she said.
He came forward in his quick, springy fashion, his odd eyes laughing their gay, unstable greeting into hers. He took the hands she held out to him, and bending, lightly kissed them.
"Have you been bored? Mais non! I have not been so long gone. Why are you not still resting, chérie, as I told you?"
She looked at him, and still—though her eyes laughed their gladness—the wistfulness remained. "I am—quite rested, monseigneur. And the tiredness—quite gone. And now you are going to take me to see the sights of Paris?"
"Those of them you don't know?" suggested Saltash.
She nodded. "I don't know very many. I never went very far. I was afraid."
He twisted his hand through her arm, and his fingers closed upon her wrist. "You are not afraid—with me?" he questioned.
Her eyes answered him before her voice. "Never, monseigneur."