"You, too, have suffered?" interestedly. Those almost incredible eyes,—what mystery lurked in their abysmal greys? "You, too, have suffered?" the Chevalier repeated.
"I?" A shiver ran over Brother Jacques's frame; his form shook and vibrated like a harpstring rudely struck. "Yes, I have suffered; but God is applying a remedy called forgetfulness. They will carry you up to the deck this afternoon?"
"Yes. I am told that there are to be games."
Here Breton returned, followed by Victor, who carried a roll of paper in his hand. Brother Jacques pressed the poet's arm affectionately. He had grown to love this youth whose cheeriness and amiability never left him.
"Paul, my boy," said Victor, when the priest had gone, "I have started a ballade of double refrain."
"Is it gay, lad?" The Chevalier was glad to see his friend. There was no mystery here; he could see to the bottom of this well.
"Not so gay as it might be, nor so melancholy as I strove to make it. Frankly, I was a trifle homesick this morning. There was something in the air which recalled to me the Loire in the springtime."
The Chevalier looked at Breton, who flushed. "Homesick, eh?" he said. "Well, don't be ashamed of it, Victor; Breton here was moping but half an hour ago over the hills of Périgny. And, truth to tell, so was I."
"Ha!" cried the poet with satisfaction, "that sounds like Paul of old."
"What are the games this afternoon?" asked the Chevalier. "Will there be foils?"