She turned the tiny golden key. Inside, three purple pansies reposed on a nest of green moss, smiling up at her with velvety eyes.
"I'll have the contents," she said. "The box you can keep for another time."
With slim white fingers she picked out the pansies and tucked them into her coat.
"Still only a few flowers, Pansy?" he said, annoyed, yet pleased that her friendship was disinterested. "Suggest something else that you would accept."
"Breakfast," she said promptly. "I'm dying of hunger."
A sumptuous feast was spread for her benefit, served in gold and jewel-encrusted dishes; an array of the most expensive luxuries. If Le Breton's idea had been to impress her with his wealth and magnificence, he failed. It seemed to pass her by unnoticed; for Pansy was much more interested in his Arab servants, the grove, the distant view of the sea, than any of the regal extravagance immediately before her.
When the meal was over she sat, wistful and dreamy-looking, listening to the sigh of the sea.
For some moments Le Breton watched her. Just then her mood appeared very out of keeping with her boyish attire.
"I'd like to see you dressed in something really feminine," he remarked presently.
"What's your idea of something 'really feminine?'" she inquired.