Then he turned. She was standing just within the door, watching him, and in her eyes also there was the same curious brightness.
He looked at her a moment whimsically, without moving.
“You are a wonderful woman!” he exclaimed at last, speaking in French.
“Why?” she returned in the same language.
He shrugged his shoulders.
“I leave that to the bon Dieu who made you. He’s responsible, I suppose, for women of your type.”
She smiled without replying.
“You tell me you’re happy?” he asked.
“Quite happy, François.”
Again he shrugged his shoulders. “Come, let us talk,” he said, taking her by both hands and leading her to the sofa. “I only saw you for ten minutes this morning.”