"They are not eyes, they are two gods,
Which are robed in power complete.
Gods? nay, they are the heavens——"
The adventurer was not to finish his verse, for Mirette came to inform him that her mistress was awaiting him at supper. The Caribbean never partook of this meal, and Croustillac was to be alone with the widow. She seemed dreamy and said little; she started involuntarily and frequently.
"What troubles you, madame?" said Croustillac, also preoccupied.
"I do not know; strange presentiments, but I am foolish. It is your gloomy face that gives me the blues," she added, with a forced smile. "Come, amuse me a little, chevalier. Youmäale is doubtless at this moment worshiping certain stars, and I am surprised at not seeing him; but it rests with you to make me forget his absence."
"Here is an excellent opportunity to produce my sonnet," said the Gascon to himself. "If I dared, madame, I would recite some little verses which might, perhaps, interest you."
"Verses—how? are you a poet, chevalier?"
"All lovers are, madame."
"That is an admission—you are in love, in order to be entitled to be a poet?"
"No, madame," said Croustillac sadly. "I am in love by right of suffering."
"And to chant your sad martyrdom—let us hear the verses."