"Go on looking," said Aristide.
"There is a lady there now. It is this lady. She looks very frightened. Some one has put a red cap on her head. Ah—now a gentleman comes. He takes her hand and puts a ring on it. Now he kisses her."
Aline drew away. The clamour and the crowd, the hasty wedding, the cold first kiss, all swam together in her mind.
"That is the past," she said in a low, strained voice. "Tell me where he is now. Is he alive? Where is he? Shall I see him again?"
She had forgotten her surroundings, the listeners, Mme de Breteuil's sharp eyes. She only looked eagerly at Aristide, and he nodded once or twice, and laid her hand again on the child's head.
"She shall look," he said, but Marie lifted weary eyes.
"Monsieur, I am tired," she said.
"Just this once more, little one. Then you shall sleep," and she turned obediently and bent again over his hand.
"I do not like this picture," she said fretfully.
"What is it?"