“I noticed this the more, because when I first had the pleasure of seeing you, your manner was so very different—in fact, quite the reverse—”
A sigh and a sad smile were the only reply. These interrupted me for but a moment, and I proceeded:—
“When first observing this change, Mademoiselle, I attributed it to grief for the loss of your faithful servitor and friend.”
Another melancholy smile.
“But the period of sorrowing for such a cause is surely past, and yet—”
“And yet you observe that I am still sad?”
“Just so, Mademoiselle.”
“True, Monsieur; it is even so.”
“I have ceased therefore to regard that as the cause of your melancholy; and have been forced to think of some other—”
The gaze of half surprise, half interrogation, that now met mine, caused me for a moment to suspend my speech. After a pause, I resumed it, determined to come at once to the point, “You will pardon me, Mademoiselle, for this free interest in your affairs—you will pardon me for asking. Do I not recognise in Monsieur Gayarre the cause of your unhappiness?”