"It is time you said so——"
"I thought you understood——"
The girl laughed:
"I understand how glad I am to see you!" She looked about her in the sunshine, and touched a tall blossom of queen's lace with outstretched fingers.
"How heavenly beautiful is this world of God!" she said with that charming lack of self-consciousness which the skies of France seem to germinate even in aliens. "I am very glad to see you," she repeated abruptly, "and I am awaiting the expression of your sentiments."
"Of course I am glad to see you, Philippa——"
"That makes me quite happy." She smiled on him and then looked curiously at his painting kit. "If you will choose your picture," she added, "I shall sit beside you and watch you at your painting. It will be agreeable. We can converse."
So he chose a ferny spot at the wood's edge, pitched his field easel and camp stool, and opened his color box; and Philippa seated herself cross-legged on the short grass beside him, gathering both slim ankles into her hands.
While he was fussing with his canvas, she sang to herself blithely, radiantly contented, rocking herself to and fro to the rhythm of her song:
"'Hussar en vedette,
What do you see?
The sun has set
And a voice is calling me
Across the Récollette,
Where the scented rushes fret
In the May wind's breath—
Et garde à vous, Hussar!
'Tis the voice of Death!
'Hussar en vedette,
What do you see?
The moon has set
And a white shape beckons me
Across the Récollette,
Where the scented rushes fret
In the night wind's breath—
Et garde à vous, Hussar!
'Tis the shape of Death!'"