The young Italian did not answer. It is probable that at that moment she was not interested in the pane of glass or in Chaudoreille.
Night approached. For some hours all had been silent in the barber's shop; for he, following his habitual custom, had closed his shutters as soon as day declined, since he was not in the habit of receiving strangers and waited on no customers in the evening. This was the time that Touquet had chosen for his dinner hour, although people commonly took this meal much earlier. The barber's dinner, therefore, also passed for a supper.
As soon as Marguerite called from her kitchen, "We are waiting for you, mademoiselle," Blanche left her room and quickly went down into the lower room where the meal was served. Touquet dined with the young girl. This was the moment of the day when they were longest together, although the barber always appeared to wish to abridge the time as much as possible, remaining at the table only as long as was absolutely necessary in order to satisfy his appetite, and answering only in monosyllables to all that Blanche said to him, so as not to prolong the duration of the repast.
This time the barber was, as usual, seated near the hearth, waiting for Blanche to come down; but when she appeared, contrary to his custom, he raised his eyes to the young girl and seemed to wish to read hers. Surprised at being thus regarded by him whose looks had always evaded her smile, Blanche involuntarily lowered her eyes, which beamed with truth and innocence, and a little more color appeared in her cheeks; for the barber's look was more piercing than usual.
Touquet already seemed reassured. The expression of Blanche's features had dissipated the uneasiness which he had felt; he placed himself at the table and made a sign to the lovely girl to take her accustomed place. The meal seemed as though it would pass in silence as usual; Marguerite only, while changing the dishes, ventured some remarks, to which Blanche answered a few words.
But all of a sudden the young girl appeared to recall an agreeable idea, and cried,—
"My friend, did you hear the music this morning?"
"The music," said Touquet, glancing furtively at Blanche; "yes, I believe I heard it."
"Oh, it was so pretty! They sang in Italian at first; then afterwards in French,—a romance. Wait; I believe I can remember the refrain," and Blanche sang with expression,—
| "I love to eternity, |
| My darling is all to me." |