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Chester made show of breaking in and three speakers at once begged him to proceed: "How much of a book," he asked Mme. Castanado, "will the manuscript make? How long is it?" She looked falteringly to her husband: "'Tis about a foot long, nine inch' wide. Marcel, pazz that to monsieur." The husband complied. Chester counted the lines of one of the pages. Madame watched him anxiously.
If elsewhere in that wide city a like number ever settled down to listen to an untamed writer's manuscript in as sweet content with one another their story ought to be printed. "Well," Mme. Castanado chanted, "commence." And Chester read: When I was twenty-four I lived at the small capital of my native Southern State. My parental home was three counties distant.
"Yes," Aline interrupted. "Mr. Chester, have you gone in partnership with Mr. Castanado 'Masques et Costumes'? Or would it not be maybe better honor to me and yourself to speak " "Straight out? Yes, of course. Aline, I've been racking my brain I still am and my heart to divine what it is that separates us. I had come to believe you loved me. I can't quite stifle the conviction yet.
"And then also," quietly said Aline, "ask me, for I did not discover them only last week." M. Prieur joining in enabled Chester to murmur: "May I ask you something?" "You need not. You would ask if I knew you had discovered them M. Castanado and the rest." "And you would answer?" "That I knew they had discovered you." "Discovered, you mean, my spiritual substance?" "Yes, your spiritual substance.
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