“Nothing, it is true.”
“Is not the present the radiant morning of a glorious future?”
“What will you? There are sad physiognomies as there are happy ones; mine is not yours. But let us talk no more of that, nor of the past, nor of the future; let us talk of the present.”
He rose, and, taking her in his arms, made her sit next to him on the sofa.
The sound of the doorbell made Saniel jump as if he had received an electric shock.
“You will not open the door?” Phillis said. “Do not let any one take our evening from us.”
But soon another ring, more decided, brought him to his feet.
“It is better to know,” he said, and he went to open the door, leaving Phillis in his office.
A maid handed him a letter.
“From Madame Dammauville,” she said; “there is an answer.”