He smiled as he spoke.
“There is the beginning of a little home for you, madame. I washed the blankets; they have not been used since I washed them, and they will be dry by to-night. The food was collected by me—in Beaucourt.”
She interrupted him.
“Then—you meant to stay in Beaucourt?”
His face remained turned to the window, and she saw it in profile.
“I had thought of it. Just a whim, you know, the whim of a man who was starting life over again. By the way, the matches and the candles belonged to me. I can leave you two boxes—and if I may take one candle?”
Her eyes were dark with some emotion that Brent did not fathom.
“And where will you go?”
He refused to look at her.
“Oh, anywhere. It does not matter.”