He spoke the words with a certain tone of dignified playfulness.
“When shall the woman sit to you again, painter?” said Florimel— sole reply to his rhapsody.
The painter thought a little. Then he said:
“I don’t like that tire-woman of yours. She has two evil eyes— one for each of us. I have again and again caught their expression when they were upon us, and she thought none were upon her: I can see without lifting my head when I am painting, and my art has made me quick at catching expressions, and, I hope, at interpreting them.”
“I don’t altogether like her myself,” said Florimel. “Of late I am not so sure of her as I used to be. But what can I do? I must have somebody with me, you know.—A thought strikes me. Yes. I won’t say now what it is lest I should disappoint my—painter; but— yes—you shall see what I will dare for you, faithless man!”
She set off at a canter, turned on to the grass, and rode to meet Liftore, whom she saw in the distance returning, followed by the two grooms.
“Come on, Raoul,” she cried, looking back; “I must account for you. He sees I have not been alone.”
Lenorme joined her, and they rode along side by side.
The earl and the painter knew each other: as they drew near, the painter lifted his hat, and the earl nodded.
“You owe Mr Lenorme some acknowledgment, my lord, for taking charge of me after your sudden desertion,” said Florimel. “Why did you gallop off in such a mad fashion?”