"And you told me, Jean," Myrna added, wagging her finger at him in pretty reproach, "that you had never been away from Bernay-sur-Mer."
Jean laughed uncomfortably, self-consciously.
"It is nothing!" he said. "You do not understand. It is foolish! The statue and the square and the city are only in the dream that comes sometimes."
"Ah—a dream!" ejaculated Henry Bliss, with a quick nod of his head.
"Oh, Jean!" Myrna clapped her hands delightedly. "Tell us about it."
"There is nothing to tell, mademoiselle," he replied, colouring. "It is just a dream that comes sometimes when I am fishing, when I lie awake at night, when I am not thinking of it. That is all, mademoiselle. It means nothing."
"It means a great deal!" said Henry Bliss, jumping excitedly to his feet. "And at least it should help you to understand that it is not so impossible after all when I tell you that, barring little crudities of technique that are a paltry consideration, there is no sculptor in France to-day could produce a piece of work comparable to that which you have done."
Jean's lips were slightly parted. Excitement was upon him too. A strange stirring was in his soul.
"But I cannot believe that," he said in a low voice.
Henry Bliss's hands were on Jean's shoulders once more, pressing them in a hard, earnest grip.