"A LITTLE WHITE POINT OF INTERROGATION"
"And was he always like that—funny and jolly and good‑natured?"
"Always; he hasn't changed a bit."
"And is he very sincere?"
Just then Barty came on to the balcony: it was time to go. My sister had been fetched away already (in her gondola).
So Barty made his farewells, and bent his gallant, irresistible look of mirthful chivalry and delicate middle‑aged admiration on Leah's upturned face, and her eyes looked up more piercing and blacker than ever; and in each of them a little high light shone like a point of interrogation—the reflection of some white window‑curtain, I suppose; and I felt cold all down my back.
(Barty's daughter, Mary Trevor, often sings a little song of De Musset's. It is quite lovely, and begins:
"Beau chevalier qui partez pour la guerre,
Qu'allez‑vous faire
Si loin d'ici?
Voyez‑vous pas que la nuit est profonde,
Et que le monde
N'est que souci?"
"Beau chevalier qui partez pour la guerre,
Qu'allez‑vous faire
Si loin d'ici?
Voyez‑vous pas que la nuit est profonde,
Et que le monde
N'est que souci?"
It is called "La Chanson de Barberine," and I never hear it but I think of that sweet little white virginal point d'interrogation, and Barty going away to France.)