Her shoes crunched on the broken crockery as she searched in the cupboard for food. She brought him a slice of cold meat, and some bread and cheese, and Paul ate—while she sat beside him. And suddenly they seemed to become conscious of the outer world, of a rich sunset, of a stream of golden light, and the sound of a blackbird singing. A thrill of joy, of mystery, ran through both of them. They looked into each other’s eyes, and kissed.
XXIX
Paul had found his pipe; he was filling it and staring at the floor, when something yellow whisked into the kitchen. It was Philosophe, Philosophe who had been missing all day and who now floated in with an air of having been round the corner. The dog yapped and pawed at Manon’s apron.
“A lot of use you have been to us,” said Brent.
But Manon kissed Philosophe’s head and then pushed him away.
“I could forgive anything to-night.”
“Even—that?”
She pressed her hands to her eyes.
“No, not that. What are we to do now?”
They heard a sudden sound in the silence, a queer sound that startled both of them. Philosophe was licking Bibi’s face.