“Thank you,” smiled Luc. “You have honoured me. I give you all my good wishes—that your genius may make you happy as it has made you great.”
The young man did not answer. He seemed abashed.
When they had gone, Luc went to the table and put the flowers beside the proofs of his book.
The sun was near the setting, but the room was still brilliant with ruddy light.
Luc stood quite still, his hands resting on the edge of the table. He closed his eyes and bent his head.
“Is there no charm to bring any of you back?” he asked, in a low voice. “For a moment? You know now. Come back to me, dear. There is nothing in the way now, nothing. You know I am lonely, do you not?”
He swayed a little against the table, and set his teeth.
“Come back; come—back.”
He sank on his knees, and rested his face against the wand-bottomed chair.
“I love you—is it not strong enough? Come—back.”