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Zephyrin, who has just come, was drenched to the skin. I took the liberty, madame, of keeping him to dinner. He has leave till ten o'clock." Helene followed her mechanically. She felt a desire to look once more on everything in her home before removing her bonnet. "You have done quite right, my girl," she answered. For a moment she lingered on the kitchen threshold, gazing at the bright fire.
She's a beautiful woman, with flowers in her basket." Helene sat down and inspected the beautiful woman who decorated the gilt and varnished lid of a box of lozenges, every stain on which had been carefully wiped off by Zephyrin. On the chair a dish-cloth was hanging, and she could not well lean back. She flung it aside, however, and once more lapsed into her dreaming.
Madame Deberle informed them that she was setting out in three days' time for Naples, with her husband and Lucien. The crowd now quickly disappeared; Zephyrin and Rosalie were the last to remain. Then in their turn they went off, linked together, arm-in-arm, delighted with their outing, although their hearts were heavy with grief.
I told him, 'If you would like to have my bowl of soup, you can have it. Come, speak up, Zephyrin; you know that was how it came about!" The mistress remained silent, and the servant grew uneasy, thinking she was annoyed. Then in quavering tones she continued: "Oh, he was dying of hunger, madame; he stole a raw carrot for me! They feed him so badly!
"Dear me!" she exclaimed, as she took them in her hand, inspired with the wish of gratifying Zephyrin. The little soldier gaped with a silent chuckle. His face beamed with smiles, and his eyes followed each picture, his head wagging whenever something especially lovely was being examined by madame. "That one there," he suddenly remarked, "I found in the Rue du Temple.
At San Miguel, little has been done to disturb the interior, so that it is in practically the same condition as it was left by the padres themselves. Fr. Zephyrin informs me that these decorations were done by one Murros, a Spaniard, whose daughter, Mrs. McKee, at the age of over eighty, is still alive at Monterey. She told him that the work was done in 1820 or 1821.
He still remained close to the wall, and his lips stirred, as though to emphasize each sentence in the letter by a slight movement of the chin. No doubt he knew its contents by heart. "Then you are Zephyrin Lacour, are you not?" asked Helene. He began to laugh and wagged his head. "Come in, my lad; don't stay out there."
A smile came to her face as she saw Zephyrin sitting there to all appearance so serious, though in reality he was patting Rosalie's knee under the table, whilst she remained very stiff, affecting an innocent demeanor. Then everything became blurred. Helene lost all definite sense of her surroundings, of the place where she was, and of what had brought her there.
Little by little Helene grew somewhat easier; she saw that her entrance did not disturb them, and that their faces only expressed the quiet content of patient lovers. At this time, too, Rosalie seemed even more wide awake than Zephyrin.
Don't disturb yourself, my girl; eat away, eat away. There's a lad who'll have to go back to barracks." Rosalie thereupon sat down again. Zephyrin, who had also been standing, made a military salute, and returned to the cutting of his meat, with his elbows projecting as though to show that he knew how to conduct himself at table.
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