Annabel laughed and shook her mist in great enjoyment. I liked to watch her, yet I wondered where Madame de Ferrier was, and could not bring myself to inquire.
"These horrible incense pots choke me," said Annabel.
"I like them," said the marquis.
"Do you? So do I," she instantly agreed with him.
"Though we get enough incense in church."
"I should think so! Do you like mass?"
"I was brought up on my knees. But I never acquired the real devotee's back."
"Sit on your heels," imparted Annabel in strict confidence. "Try it."
"I will. Ah, mademoiselle, any one who could bring such comfort into religion might make even wedlock endurable!"
Madame de Ferrier appeared between the curtains of a deep window. She was talking with Count de Chaumont and an officer in uniform. Her face pulsed a rosiness like that quiver in winter skies which we call northern lights. The clothes she wore, being always subdued by her head and shoulders, were not noticeable like other women's clothes. But I knew as soon as her eyes rested on me that she found me changed.