"Madame!"
Seeing how evidently he was at a loss for words, she put out her hand to him as if to give him courage.
"Do not be afraid. Tell me--where was it that you saw me?"
"I saw you in a dream."
"A dream? Monsieur! To hear you speak--it is like a poem. Monsieur, where did you dream this dream in which you dreamt of me?"
"It was last year, at Spa."
"At Spa--that horrible place?"
"I did not find it a horrible place."
"No? Was it that dream which you dreamt of me which robbed it of its horror?" He did not speak. He allowed her to infer a compliment, but he did not proffer one. "But Monsieur, I was only at Spa one afternoon and a single night."
"It was that night I dreamed of you."