“I eat and drink, mademoiselle. Try it.”
“Oh, you strange man from the cold north! You make me shiver. Touch my hand. See? You have made me cold.”
“Cold? You are a flame from the crown of gold on your head to your shoes of gold.”
“Now that you are become a success, monsieur, what will you do? To you is given the heart’s desire.” She toyed with the quivering jelly, merely tasting it. It too was golden in hue, and golden lights danced in the heart of it.
“A great success? I am dreaming. It is so new to me that I do not believe it.”
“You are very clever, monsieur. You never tell your thoughts. I asked if you remembered me and you answered 399 in a riddle. I knew you did not, for you never saw me before.”
“Did I never see you dance?”
“Ah, there you are again! To see me dance––in a great audience––one of many? That does not count. You but pretended.”
He leaned forward, looking steadily in her eyes. “Did I but pretend when I said I never could forget you? Ah, mademoiselle, you are too modest.”
She was maddened that she could not pique him to a more ardent manner, but gave no sign by so much as the quiver of an eyelid. She only turned her profile toward him indifferently. He noticed the piquant line of her lips and chin and throat, and the golden tones of her delicate skin.