“I am.”
“Now is the very time to read; for my poor Roland is at sea when we discuss our questions, and the book has driven him away.”
“But we have plenty of time to read. We miss the scenes.”
“The scenes are green shutters, wet steps, barcaroli, brown women, striped posts, a scarlet night-cap, a sick fig-tree, an old shawl, faded spots of colour, peeling walls. They might be figured by a trodden melon. They all resemble one another, and so do the days here.”
“That’s the charm. I wish I could look on you and think the same. You, as you are, for ever.”
“Would you not let me live my life?”
“I would not have you alter.”
“Please to be pathetic on that subject after I am wrinkled, monsieur.”
“You want commanding, mademoiselle.”
Renée nestled her chin, and gazed forward through her eyelashes.