"Yes, yes," whispered Bérangère, "my god-father said so one day: they are alive, the Three Eyes."
"They are alive," I declared, "and they gaze at you. Look at the two lower eyes by themselves; think of them as actual eyes; and you will see that they really have an expression. There, they're smiling now."
"You're right, they're smiling."
"And see what a soft and gentle look they have now . . . a little serious also. . . . Oh, Bérangère, it's impossible!"
"What?"
"They have your expression, Bérangère, your expression."
"What nonsense! It's ridiculous!"
"The very expression of your eyes. You don't know it yourself. But I do. They have never looked at me like that; but, all the same, they are your eyes, it's their expression, their charm. I know, because these make me feel . . . eh, as yours do, Bérangère!"
But the end was approaching. The three geometrical figures began to revolve upon themselves with the same dizzy motion which reduced them to a confused disk which soon vanished.
"They're your eyes, Bérangère," I stammered; "there's not a doubt about it; it was as though you were looking at me."