The woman nodded, and modestly touched Gaston’s outstretched hand.
“Monsieur was kind once to my dear Mademoiselle,” she said.
Gaston cheerily smiled:
“Nothing, nothing, upon my word!” Presently he continued:
“Your father, what of him?” She sighed and shivered a little.
“He died in Auvergne three months after you saw him.”
“And you?” He waved a hand towards the menagerie.
“It is a long story,” she answered, not meeting his eyes. “I hated the Romany life. I became an artist’s model; sickened of that,”—her voice went quickly here, “joined a travelling menagerie, and became what I am. That in brief.”
“You have done well,” he said admiringly, his face glowing.
“I am a successful dompteuse,” she replied.