"I'm afraid you will find it rather difficult, Madame," said I.
"Do you think I'm afraid of difficulties? Isn't everything difficult? Is it easy for you to get everything to come out on that canvas just as you want it? If you could dash it off in a minute it wouldn't be worth doing. As you yourself said, I'll have to give Gaston time."
I seated myself on the fender-seat close by her chair, and for some minutes watched the clever needle work its golden way through the white silk. No one has ever had such dainty fingers and delicate wrists.
"You mustn't think, because I have spoken about Mr. de Nérac, that I am discontented. I wouldn't have him a bit altered integrally, for there is no one like him living. And I'm utterly happy in the fulfilment of the great romance of my life. Isn't it wonderful, Asticot? Have you ever heard the like outside a story book? To meet again after thirteen years and to find the old—the old——"
"Love," I whispered, as I saw that she suddenly blushed at the word.
"As strong and true as ever. It is the inner things that matter, Asticot. The outside ones are nothing. Dreadful things have happened to each of us during those years, but they haven't clouded the serenity of our souls."
"Ah, Madame," said I, with a smile—it strikes me now that I was slightly impertinent—"I am sure my master said that."
"Yes," she admitted, raising wide innocent eyes. "How did you guess?"
"You yourself once detected echoes in me!"
We both laughed.