Herbert paused, moved his cup nearer the arm of his chair, and for a moment stirred it gently.
Lemois, whose grave eyes had never wandered from Herbert, broke the silence.
“I should have learned their language and have stayed on until they did understand,” he murmured softly. “It wouldn’t have taken very long.”
“The captain did try, Lemois,” returned Herbert, “first by signs and gentle approaches, and then by keeping perfectly still, to pacify them; but it was of no use. They had lost all confidence in human kind. The peace of the everlasting ages had come to an end. Fear had entered into their world!”
IV
THE ARRIVAL OF A LADY OF QUALITY
One of the delights of dressing by our open windows at this season is to catch the aroma of Mignon’s roasting coffee. This morning it is particularly delicious. The dry smell of the soil that gave it birth is fast merging into that marvellous perfume which makes it immortal. The psychological moment is arriving; in common parlance it is just on the “burn”—another turn and the fire will have its revenge. But Mignon’s vigil has never ceased—into the air it goes, the soft breeze catching and cooling it, and then there pours out, flooding the garden, the flowers, and the roofs, its new aroma and with it its new life.
Flooding the garden, the flowers, and the roofs