"My hair? It is still on my head."
"It was tangled across your face—then."
"Taisez-vous, Monsieur Marche!"
"And you seem to have grown taller—"
"It is my ball-gown."
"And you do not cast down your eyes and say, 'Oui, monsieur,' 'Non, monsieur'—"
"Non, monsieur."
Again they laughed, looking into each other's eyes, and there was music in the room and music in their hearts.
Presently the candle-light gave place to moonlight, and they found themselves on the terrace, seated, listening to the voice of the wind in the forest; and they heard the little river Lisse among the rushes and the murmur of leaves on the eaves.
When they became aware of their own silence they turned to each other with the gentle haste born of confusion, for each feared that the other might not understand. Then, smiling, half fearful, they reassured each other with their silence.