It will be a surprise
for Mineur. And I shall have something to cherish. Never mind about
Berenice. She is a child. I am a middle-aged man. Between us is the
wall--of the years. Never should it be climbed. While you--"
"Be careful--Hubert. Theophile is your friend."
"He is not. I never cared for him. He dragged me out here after he had
been drinking too much, and when I saw you I could not stay away. Hear
me--I insist! Berenice is nice, but the wall is too high for her to
climb; it might prove a--"
"How do you know the wall is too steep for Berenice?" the girl cried as
she scaled the top with apish agility, where, after a few mocking steps
in the moonlight, she sank down breathless beside Hubert, and laughed so
loudly that her mother was fearful of hysteria.
"Berenice! Berenice!" she exclaimed.
"Oh, Berenice is all right, mamma. Master Hubert, I want you to paint my
portrait before papa returns--that's to be in four weeks, isn't it?" The
elder pair regarded her disconcertedly.
"Oh, you needn't look so dismal. I'll not tell tales out of school.
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