And he waited in silence, and with a deep expectation, for the revelation of the child. It seemed to him that Vere had her purpose in coming here, as Hermione had had hers. And once more the words of the old man in “Pelleas and Melisande” haunted him. Once more he heard them in his heart.
“Now it’s the child’s turn.”
Vere dropped her right hand over the gunwale till it touched the sea, making a tiny splash.
“Monsieur Emile!” she said.
“Yes, Vere.”
“Do you believe in the evil eye?”
Artois did not know what he had expected Vere to say, but her question seemed to strike his mind like a soft blow, it was so unforeseen.
“No,” he answered.
She was silent. It was too dark for him to see her face at all clearly. He had only a vague general impression of her, of her slightness, vitality, youth, and half-dreamy excitement.
“Why do you ask me?”