The Breton did not move.
“Is not this screen a nuisance!” she cried irritably, and her voice would have been savage had it not been for the music of its tones.
The Breton neither answered nor turned his eyes away.
“Priest, shall I come out?”
He still looked up into the crevices.
“Shall I?”
A questioning light came into his eyes.
“Would it make you happy?” she whispered.
The light deepened.
“Well, I don’t!” she exclaimed scornfully. “At its best it is nothing; in its truth it is false. Such hopes men lay to gold and rubies in their mountain caskets: to the cloudy pearl in the jade depths of the sea. Sought; found; lost; forgotten; its gold, cloud—gold and its pearl moon-mist! How ridiculous!”