Greatly intrigued by this strange attitude, “Antinoüs” approached her.
“You seem tired, chère madame. Will it weary you further if I take a seat here and converse with you?” He was speaking with well-feigned sympathy.
“Not in the least, Monsieur de Plenhöel,” she answered, drawing her skirts aside to make room for him on the foot of the lounge to which she had retreated. She did not see that he was considering her out of the corner of an extraordinarily mocking eye.
“What I admire,” he was thinking, “are the transports of joy with which she hails the reappearance of her uncle and aunt upon the tapis.” But aloud he said, gently, “You remind me of one of our Brittany wild roses to-night, madame.”
“Why wild?” she questioned, her eyes softening at the broad hint of compliment. “I am very tame, I assure you.”
“Really!” he smiled. “One would scarcely connect you with tameness. You are a pronounced personality, and such rarely submit to dulling influences.”
She raised her pliant figure from the cushions among which she had been nestling. “You think that?” she murmured, well pleased. “I was afraid I was beginning to drift with the tide.”
“A tide of well-deserved success!” he asserted, his blue glances flooding her with admiration. “You are a happy woman, madame, for at the touch of your wand a kingdom has been flung at your little feet.”
“A kingdom!” she scoffed, looking at him between her lashes. “Scarcely that!”
“A kingdom of infinite love and tenderness!” Régis de Plenhöel explained in a suddenly altered tone.