"I? Why not? What is it?" He was curious. As they talked, standing beside the river, René watched the flat stones he threw ricochet on the water.
"Once on a time, as they say in Madame Swanwick's book of sixty-five tales, by Nancy Skyrin, a man, one Schmidt, came into the dining-room and sat down quietly to read at an open window for the sake of the breeze from the river. It might have been on Second Day. It chanced to be the same time a Quaker man who hath of late come often sat without on the step of the porch, a proper lad, and young, very neat in gray. Near by sat a maid. Up from the river came the little god who is of all religions and did tempt the young man. The man within lost interest in his book."
Then René gave up the game of skip-stone, and, turning, said, "Mon Dieu, you did not listen?"
"Did he not? He had listened to the talk in the book, and wherefore not to them? It amused him more. For a little the maid did not seem greatly displeased."
"She did not seem displeased?"
"No. And then—and then that Friend who was perverted into a lover would brusquer matters, as you say, and did make a venture, being tempted by the little devil called Cupid. The man who listened did not see it, but it does seem probable she was kissed, because thereupon was heard a resounding smack, and feeling that here had been a flagrant departure from non-resistance, the man within, having been satisfactorily indiscreet, fell to reading again and the Quaker went away doubly wounded. Dost thou like my story, Friend de Courval?"
"No, I do not." He was flushing, angry.
"I told you I had no conscience."
"Upon my word, I believe you. Why did you not kick him?"
"I leave you the privilege."