He opened the door and went quickly out of the room, and when the door shut it was as if an iron door shut upon a furnace.
Hermione stood looking at this door. She drew a long breath.
“But he has seen it!” she said, aloud. “He has seen it.”
And Emile?
Had she been a blind woman, she who had so loved the beauty that was dust? She thought of Vere and Ruffo standing together, so youthful, so happy in their simple, casual intercourse.
It was as if Vere had been mysteriously drawn to this boy because of his resemblance to the father she had never seen.
Vere! Little Vere!
Again the mother’s tenderness welled up in Hermione’s heart, this time sweeping away the reluctance to be humble.
“I will go to Vere now.”
She went to the door, as she had gone to it the previous day. But this time she did not hesitate to open it. A strong impulse swept her along, and she came to her child’s room eagerly.