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Updated: June 14, 2025
I wish very much to know what you were like, what kind of a man you are. And so," he concluded with an opening of the hands, palms upward, as if to show that nothing remained for concealment, "and so I have watched you." "Why?" I asked. "The explanation is so simple: it was necessary." "Because of of Mr. Saffren?" I said slowly, and with some trepidation. "Precisely."
"I appreciate your seriousness," I rejoined. "Has it been rewarded?" "How can I say? You haven't told me whether or no I may follow you to the wildwood." "I mean, have you caught another glimpse of Mr. Saffren?"
Then, to my surprise, her tone changed suddenly, and she began again in a hurried low voice: "You didn't tell her " and stopped there, breathless and troubled, letting me see that I had been right after all: this was what she wanted to talk about. "I didn't tell her that young Saffren is mad, no; if that is what you mean."
Saffren came to Les Trois Pigeons, they were so careful to keep out of everybody's sight that one might have suspected that they were in hiding and, in fact, I'm sure that they were though, as time passed and nothing alarming happened, they've felt reassured and allowed themselves more liberty.
"His speaking to you as he did; a thing on the face of it inexcusable " "Why did he call me 'Madame d'Armand'?" she interposed. I explained something of the mental processes of Amedee, and she listened till I had finished; then bade me continue. "That's all," I said blankly, but, with a second thought, caught her meaning. "Oh, about young Saffren, you mean?" "Yes."
"Will you do it for me setting it down just as a whim, if you like, and letting it go at that?" "Yes, I will," I answered promptly. "I'll do anything you ask." She stepped closer, looked at me intently for a second, bit her lip in indecision, then said, all in a breath: "Don't tell Mr. Saffren my name!" "But I hadn't meant to," I protested.
This was so far from what I had expected that I was surprised into a slight change of attitude, which all too plainly gratified him, though he made an effort to conceal it. "Well," I said uneasily, "what do they find to say of Mademoiselle Elliott?" "They say that her painting is only a ruse to see monsieur." "To see Monsieur Saffren, yes." "But, no!" he cried. "That is not "
I had time only to glance at him, to "take" him, as it were, between two shutter-flicks of the instantaneous eyelid, and with him, the courtyard flooded with sunshine, the figure of Madame Brossard emerging from her little office, Amedee coming from the kitchen bearing a white-covered tray, and, entering from the road, upon the trail of Saffren but still in the shadow of the archway, the discordant fineries and hatchet-face of the ex-pedestrian and tourist, my antagonist of the forest.
"Yes, it is," I assured him calmly. "As you know, Monsieur Saffren is very, very handsome, and Mademoiselle Elliott, being a painter, is naturally anxious to look at him from time to time." "You are sure?" he said wistfully, even plaintively. "That is not the meaning Jean Ferret put upon it." "He was mistaken."
I had only two glimpses of him of the briefest but they inspired me with such a depth of dislike that I can't tell you how painful it was to discover that 'Oliver Saffren' this strange, pathetic, attractive FRIEND of mine is the same man." "Oh, but he isn't!" she exclaimed quickly. "Keredec says he is," I laughed helplessly.
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