"'I kiss your handsome grey eyes a thousand times'," he said, softly.
He touched the ash with the tip of his finger, and the feathery
particles sifted about, as if the living had imparted to the inanimate
the sense of uneasiness. "For a space I thought he would kiss her. In
faith, there is more to Monsieur du Cevennes than I had credited to his
account. It takes power, in the presence of that woman, to resist the
temptation to kiss her. But here's a new element, a new page which
makes interesting reading."
The man twirled the ends of his mustache.
"What a curious game of chess life is! Here's a simple play made
complicated. How serenely I moved toward the coveted checkmate, to
find a castle towering in the way! I came in here to await young
Montaigne. He fails to appear. Chance brings others here, and lo! it
becomes a new game. And D'Herouville will be out of hospital to-morrow
or next day. Quebec promises to become as lively as Paris. Diane, he
called her. What is her object in concealing her name? By all the
gargoyles of Notre Dame, but she would lure a bishop from his fish of a
Friday!"
He gathered up a pinch of the ash and blew it into the air.
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