“The sun is strong, we have our furs.”
“Well, then, we shall leave you. Shall I send the machine back for you?”
“Yes, if you will, in about an hour.”
During this brief colloquy, my little girl was running toward me. Her little three-year-old legs could not trot very quickly. She was already a reflective person.
“Oh!” she said, seeing me, and seemed to be astonished, “there is papa.”
She looked indeed like an exquisite little miniature in her little white hat and coat. Why had I never before noticed the charm of her wonderful colouring, her clear blue eyes and blond curls? Mme. de H—, responsive to every phase of beauty, stooped to talk to the child and was about to embrace her, but when Raymonde saw those painted lips so near the pure forehead of her little girl she quickly pulled Dilette toward her, and the kiss fell on the child’s curls.
Mme. de H— drew herself to her full height and looked fixedly at her, as at one whom she recognised to be inimical. My wife turned her head. One would have thought it an involuntary gesture. What importance is there in kissing a child? We said good-bye, and I went on my way with Mme. de H—.
When we had gone some distance, Mme. de H— broke the silence.
“She knows.”
I scoffed at so absurd a supposition. Mme. de H— made no attempt to substantiate her conviction, but insisted authoritatively (with that marvellous voice of hers, which is one of her best weapons) that she was positive of it.