"
"Is he like the Judge Honourable that comes from Montreal, or the grand
Governor, or the General that travels with the Governor?"
"Yes, but different--more--more like us in some things, like them in
others, and more--splendid. He speaks such fine things! You mind the
other night at the Louis Quinze. He is like--"
She paused. "What is he like?" Parpon asked slyly, enjoying her
difficulty.
"Ah, I know," she answered; "he is a little like Madame the American who
came two years ago. There is something--something!"
Parpon laughed again. "Like Madame Chalice from New York--fudge!" Yet
he eyed her as if he admired her penetration. "How?" he urged.
"I don't know--quite," she answered, a little pettishly. "But I used to
see Madame go off in the woods, and she would sit hour by hour, and
listen to the waterfall, and talk to the birds, and at herself too; and
more than once I saw her shut her hands--like that! You remember what
tiny hands she had?" (She glanced at her own brown ones unconsciously.)
"And she spoke out, her eyes running with tears--and she all in pretty
silks, and a colour like a rose. She spoke out like this: 'Oh, if I
could only do something, something, some big thing! What is all this
silly coming and going to me, when I know, I know I might do it, if I had
the chance! O Harry, Harry, can't you see!'"
"Harry was her husband. Ah, what a fisherman was he!" said Parpon,
nodding.
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