After an instant’s pause he said:
“Do you know from whom those words come?”
“No. Are they your own?”
“Victor Hugo’s. Do you like them?”
But her eyes were asking him a question, and he saw it.
“What is it?” he said.
“Why did you write them?” she said.
“I had to write something. You made me.”
“Vere suggested it first.”
He looked again at Vere, but only for a moment. She was laughing at something the Marchesino was saying.