Afterwards they sat and talked of many things, chiefly connected with Valpré. There was so much to remember—Mademoiselle Gautier and her queer, conventual prejudices, Manon, the maid-of-all-work, and her funny stories of the shore.
"She quite believed in the spell," Chris said. "She almost frightened me with it."
"Without doubt there was a spell," said Bertrand gravely.
"You really think so? I never believed in it after that night."
"No?" he said. "And yet it was there."
Chris peered at him. "You talk as if it were something quite substantial," she said.
"It was substantial," he made answer, and then with a sudden smile into her wondering eyes: "As substantial, chérie, as my rope of sand that was to make my work endure like—like the Sphinx and Cleopatra's Needle and—and—" He broke off with his eloquent shrug, paused a moment, then—"and—our friendship, if you will," he ended.
"Ah, fancy your remembering that!" she said. "But I believe you remember everything."
"That is the spell," he said.
"Is it, Bertie? And do you remember the duel, and how you wouldn't tell me what it was all about? Tell me now!" she begged, as a child pleading for a story. "I always wanted to know."