“You will share—in that.”
“God helping me”—and he bowed his head—“and some day—”
He paused, a man weighing his words.
“Some day—I shall come to La Bellière again.”
He turned and looked at her, as though wondering whether the woman in her understood.
“Bertrand.”
She was gazing at the pool, with its floating lilies and the swallows skimming.
“Bertrand. My father is going towards the grave. He looks to me for a double love, now that Robin is no more his son. Can you blame me for remembering this?”
He looked at her honestly, and answered:
“No.”