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"
Her eyes fell for a moment before her mother's, and there was a
silence, in which the mother felt some truth withheld. Vere looked up
again.
"And I want to appreciate Monsieur Emile properly--as you do, Madre.
It seems almost ridiculous to know him so well, and not to know him
really at all."
"But you do know him really."
"I'm sure he puts most of his real self into his work."
Hermione remembered her conception of Emile Artois long ago, when she
only knew him through two books; that she had believed him to be
cruel, that she had thought her nature must be in opposition to his.
Vere did not know that side of "Monsieur Emile."
"Vere, it is true you are growing up," she said, speaking rather
slowly, as if to give herself time for something. "Perhaps I was wrong
the other day in what I said. You may read Emile's books if you like."
"Madre!"
Vere's face flushed with eager pleasure.
"Thank you, Madre!"
She went up to bed radiant.
When she had gone Hermione stood where she was.


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