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And her eyes had been full
of a strange and beautiful sensitiveness.
"Never mind, Vere," he said quickly, obedient to those eyes, and
responding to their delicate subtlety. "We all have our righteous
secrets, and should all respect the righteous secrets of others."
"Yes, I think we should. And I know you would be the very last, at
least Madre and you, to--I think I'm being rather absurd, really." The
last words were said with a sudden change of tone to determination, as
if Vere were taking herself to task. "I'm making a lot of almost
nothing. You see, if I am a woman, as Gaspare is making out, I'm at
any rate a very young one, am I not?"
"The youngest that exists."
As he said that Artois thought, "Mon Dieu! If the Marchesino could
only see her now!"
"If humor is cruel, Monsieur Emile," Vere continued, "you will laugh
at me. For I am sure, if I tell you--and I know now I'm going to--you
will think this fuss is as ridiculous as the German's cold in the
head, and poor legs, and all.


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