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"Mary," he called, "you are surely not going to call that infant by my name?" Mary, her lap enveloped in aprons and towels, looked up from the bath in which her son was practising tentative kicks. "Why, yes, dear, I thought we'd christen him after you, as he's the eldest. Don't you think that would be nice?" She looked puzzled. "No, I do not!" Stefan snorted emphatically.
Must you comfort him or must you let him go on? Marco only stood quite still and looked at him with understanding and gravity. "Yes, Father," he said. "I am the son of Stefan Loristan, and I have given the Sign to all. You are the last one. The Lamp is lighted. I could weep for gladness, too." The priest's tears and prayers ended.
I know it's good to have served you, and and Grigosie, the name will slip out and if you want to say anything, just promise that you won't send me packing as soon as we get free. I can turn my hand to other things beside soldiering." "You shall stay with us, Stefan," said Maritza. "I don't think I could have known any real woman before," the soldier muttered.
It's no wonder she looked at me as if I'd been the dirt under her feet. That thing's got to be straightened out, somehow, but first I must see Stefan, of course." For a moment a wild idea came to him of going over to Carcajou in the darkness.
"They are doing something with Samavian flags and a lot of flowers and green things!" cried The Rat, in excitement. "Sir, they are decorating the outside of the carriage," Vorversk said. "The villagers on the line obtained permission from His Majesty. The son of Stefan Loristan could not be allowed to pass their homes without their doing homage."
He put down the sheets and glanced from wife to husband, evidently charmed with his idea. "What do you think, Mr. Byrd? Is your style suited to her work?" he asked. Stefan looked thoroughly taken aback. He laughed shortly. "I'm a painter, Mr. Farraday, not an illustrator. I haven't time to undertake that kind of thing.
Stefan threw both arms round Miss McCullock's shoulders and hugged her like a child. "Oh, hurrah!" he cried, almost sobbing with relief. "Bless you, nurse. Is she all right?" "She's perfect I've never seen finer condition. You can come up in a few minutes, the doctor says, and see her before she goes to sleep." "There's nothing needed, nurse?" asked Farraday, rising. "Nothing at all, thank you."
Stefan has not cut it down; God forbid! And dost thou remember how beautifully the sun sets behind that grove?" When the sun had gone down in the world it began to grow dark in Kranitski's room. And Mother Clemens continued in the thickening twilight: "And rememberest thou how quiet the evenings are there?
The nose was short and proud, the chin small but square, the mouth gaily curving around little, even teeth. But the eyes were deep and somber; there was passion in them, and romance. Stefan had not seen that face for years, he barely remembered the original, but he could have drawn it now in every detail.
"You don't seem to hate humanity this evening, Stefan," Mary commented. "No," he grinned. "I confess these people are less objectionable than most." He spoke in rapid French to the waiter, ordering another drink. "And the language," he continued. "If you knew what it means to me to hear French!" Mary nodded rather ruefully.
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