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"Here!" he answered emotionally, and he believed it was the truth. She stood looking meditatively out of the window, not at him. "In Pontiac?" she asked presently, turning with a child-like surprise. "Ah, yes, yes! I know one of the people; suitable for Pontiac; but is it wise? She is pretty but is it wise?" She was adroitly suggesting Elise Malboir, whose little romance she had discovered.
But Elise Malboir, abundant, true, fine, in the healthy vigour of her nature, with no dream in her heart but love fulfilled she was no part of his adventure, but of that vital spirit which can bring to the humblest as to the highest the good reality of life. It was the poignancy of these feelings which, later, drew Valmond to the ashes of the fire in whose glow Elise had stood.
What was he doing? No matter: it was a game, in which nothing was sure nothing save this girl. She would, he knew, with the abandon of an absorbing passion, throw all things away for him. Such as Madame Chalice ah, she was a part of this brave fantasy, this dream of empire, this inspiring play! But Elise Malboir was life itself, absolute, true, abiding.
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