“You are growing philosophic,” said I playfully. “Monsieur,” she said gravely, “I hope as I live and travel, I grow a little wiser.” Still she lingered, her hand upon the door.
“I had thought that you were always wise.”
“Oh no, no! How can you say so? I have been very foolish sometimes.”... She came back towards me. “If I am wiser I am also happier,” she added.
In that moment we understood each other; that is, I read how unselfish this girl could be, and she knew thoroughly the source of my anxiety, and was glad that she could remove it.
“I would not speak to any one save you,” she said, “but do you not also think that it is good we go?”
“I have been thinking so, but I hesitated to say so,” was my reply.
“You need not hesitate,” she said earnestly. “We have both understood, and I know that you are to be trusted.”
“Not always,” I said, remembering that one experience of mine with Mrs. Falchion on the ‘Fulvia’. Holding the back of a chair, and looking earnestly at me, she continued: “Once, on the vessel, you remember, in a hint so very little, I made it appear that madame was selfish.... I am sorry. Her heart was asleep. Now, it is awake. She is unselfish. The accident of our going away is hers. She goes to leave peace behind.” “I am most glad,” said I. “And you think there will be peace?”
“Surely, since this has come, that will come also.”
“And you—Mademoiselle?” I should not have asked that question had I known more of the world. It was tactless and unkind.