“Have you ever beheld a more gay and charming face than that of your betrothed? Can one be more white and blonde? are not her hands perfect? and that neck—does it not assume all the curves of the swan in ravishing fashion? How I envy you at times! and how happy you are to be a man, naughty libertine that you are! Is not my Fleur-de-Lys adorably beautiful, and are you not desperately in love with her?”
“Of course,” he replied, still thinking of something else.
“But do say something,” said Madame Aloïse, suddenly giving his shoulder a push; “you have grown very timid.”
We can assure our readers that timidity was neither the captain’s virtue nor his defect. But he made an effort to do what was demanded of him.
“Fair cousin,” he said, approaching Fleur-de-Lys, “what is the subject of this tapestry work which you are fashioning?”
“Fair cousin,” responded Fleur-de-Lys, in an offended tone, “I have already told you three times. ’Tis the grotto of Neptune.”
It was evident that Fleur-de-Lys saw much more clearly than her mother through the captain’s cold and absent-minded manner. He felt the necessity of making some conversation.
“And for whom is this Neptunerie destined?”
“For the Abbey of Saint-Antoine des Champs,” answered Fleur-de-Lys, without raising her eyes.
The captain took up a corner of the tapestry.