“Where are the stars?” he added.
She followed his example and leaned out of the great window. Not a star was visible in all the sky.
“You are right. It is coming. I feel it now. The sea is like lead, and the sky, too. There is no sense of freedom to-night, no out-of-doors feeling. And the water is horribly calm.”
As they both leaned out they heard, away to the left at some distance, the voices of Vere and the Marchesino.
“I stayed because I thought—I fancied all the chatter was getting a little on your nerves, Emile,” Hermione said now. “They are so absurdly young, both of them. Wasn’t it so?”
“Am I so old that youth should get upon my nerves?” he returned, with a creeping irritation, which, however, he tried to keep out of his voice.
“No. But of course we can hardly enjoy nonsense that might amuse them immensely. Vere is such a baby, and your friend is a regular boy, in spite of his self-assurance.”
“Women often fancy men to be young in ways in which they are not young,” said Artois. “Panacci is very much of a man, I can assure you.”
“Panacci! I never heard you call him that before.”
Her eager brown eyes went to his face curiously for a moment. Artois saw that, and said, rather hastily: