"WUNSCHE GUTEN APPETIT!"
The girl retired to a distance, but still lingered, keeping them in sight. Maurice leaned across the table. "Tell me how you are. Have you forgotten me?" He tried to take her hand.
"Take care, Maurice. We can be seen here."
"How that girl stares! Why doesn't she go away?"
"She is envying me my sweetheart again ... who won't let me eat my breakfast."
"I've been alone for hours, Louise. Tell me what I want to know."
"Yes—afterwards. The coffee is getting cold."
He sat back and watched her movements, with fanatic eyes. She was not confused by the insistence of his gaze; but she did not return it. She was paler than usual; and the lines beneath her eyes were blacker. Maurice believed that he could detect a new note in her voice this morning; and he tried to make her speak, in order that he might hear it; but she was as chary of her words as of her looks. Attracted by the two strangers, a little child of the landlord's came running up to stare shyly. She spread a piece of bread with honey, and gave it to the child. He was absurdly jealous, and she knew it.
For the rest of the morning, she would have been content to bask in the sun, but when she saw how impatient he was, she gave way, and they went out of the sight of other people, into the friendly, screening woods.
"I thought you would never come."