"Forgive me, Jack," she said.
I kissed her hands, saying that it was I who needed forgiveness, to so speak to her in her deep anxiety and unhappiness; but she shook her head and bade me remain and eat breakfast; and went away to her chamber to dress, carrying Claudia to aid her, and leaving me alone there with the girl Penelope.
"So," said I civilly, though still annoyed by memory of my horse and how this girl had carried everything with so high a hand, "so you have lived in France?"
"Yes, sir."
"Hum! Well, did you find the people agreeable?"
"Yes, sir—the children. I was but fifteen when I left France."
"Then you now own to eighteen years."
"Yes, sir."
"A venerable age."
At that she lifted her brown eyes. I smiled; and that enchanting, glimmering smile touched her lips again. And I thought of what I had heard concerning her in Caughnawaga, and how, when the old gentleman was enjoying his afternoon nap, she was accustomed to take her knitting to the porch.