"Good heavens, no!" said Vesper, irritably turning his back on him, "but I would thank you to leave me."
"Good night," said the Acadien, softly. "May the blessed Virgin give you peace. Remember that I love you, for I prophesy that we on the morrow shall quarrel," and with this cheerful assurance he gently closed the door, and went to the next room.
Rose threw open the door to him, and Agapit, though he was prepared for any change in her, yet for an instant could not conceal his astonishment. Where was her pallor,—her weariness? Gone, like the mists of the morning before the glory of the sun. Her face was delicately colored, her blue eyes were flooded with the most exquisite and tender light that he had ever seen in them. She had heard her lover's step, and Agapit dejectedly reflected that he should have even more trouble with her than with Vesper.
"Surely, I am to see him to-night?" she murmured.
"Surely not," growled Agapit. "For what do you wish to see him?"
"Agapit,—should not a mother hear of her little one?"
"Is it for that only you wish to see him?"
"For that,—also for other things. Is he changed, Agapit? Has his face grown more pale?"
Agapit broke into vigorous French. "He is more foolish than ever, that I assure thee. Such a simpleton, and thou lovest him!"
"If he is a fool, then there are no wise men in the world; but thou art only teasing. Ah, Agapit, dear Agapit," and she clasped her hands, and extended them towards him. "Tell me only what he says of Narcisse."