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"Well, my uncle and his men will fight; we'll all fight," Elise retorted, her hands grasping the arms of the rocking-chair she sat in. "But why shouldn't we avoid fighting? What is there to fight for? You are all very happy here. You were very happy here before Monsieur Valmond came. Are you happy now?" Madame Chalice's eyes searched the flushed face anxiously.
Philip was present at the time, and Miss Chalice said to him: "Why don't you paint me too? You'll be able to learn a lot by watching Mr. Lawson." It was one of Miss Chalice's delicacies that she always addressed her lovers by their surnames. "I should like it awfully if Lawson wouldn't mind." "I don't care a damn," said Lawson.
Peter was a materialist: he loved things, their shapes and colours, with a passion that blinded him to the beauty of the colourless, the formless, the super-sensuous. He slipped his fingers up the chalice's slim stem and round its cool bowl, and smiled for pleasure that such a thing existed had existed for four hundred years to gladden the world.
She looked at the Cure, where he knelt praying, and wondered how much of this tragedy the anxious priest would lay at his own door. "It is no tragedy, dear Cure" Valmond said suddenly, as if following her thoughts. "My son, it is all tragedy until you have shown me your heart, that I may send you forth in peace." He had forgotten Madame Chalice's presence, and she sat very still.
"That's the story, and that's the truth," said Elise at last. "He's a gentleman, a great man, and I'm a poor girl, and there can be nothing between us; but I'd die for him." She no longer resented Madame Chalice's solicitude: she was passive, and showed that she wished to be alone. "You think there's going to be great trouble?" she asked, as Madame Chalice made ready to go.
"That's the story, and that's the truth," said Elise at last. "He's a gentleman, a great man, and I'm a poor girl, and there can be nothing between us; but I'd die for him." She no longer resented Madame Chalice's solicitude: she was passive, and showed that she wished to be alone. "You think there's going to be great trouble?" she asked, as Madame Chalice made ready to go.
"Well, my uncle and his men will fight; we'll all fight," Elise retorted, her hands grasping the arms of the rocking-chair she sat in. "But why shouldn't we avoid fighting? What is there to fight for? You are all very happy here. You were very happy here before Monsieur Valmond came. Are you happy now?" Madame Chalice's eyes searched the flushed face anxiously.
They did not wish to leave the starlit night, and the three of them would sit on the terrace of Ruth Chalice's room, silent, hour after hour, too tired to talk any more, but in voluptuous enjoyment of the stillness. They listened to the murmur of the river. The church clock struck one and two and sometimes three before they could drag themselves to bed.
She looked at the Cure, where he knelt praying, and wondered how much of this tragedy the anxious priest would lay at his own door. "It is no tragedy, dear Cure" Valmond said suddenly, as if following her thoughts. "My son, it is all tragedy until you have shown me your heart, that I may send you forth in peace." He had forgotten Madame Chalice's presence, and she sat very still.
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