In truth, they were well worth looking at: the boyishness of one and
the sober manliness of the other, the clear eyes, tanned skin, the
quick, strong limbs. The poet's eye was always roving, and he quickly
saw the two women in the window above.
"Paul, is not that a woman to be loved?" he said; with a gaiety which
was not spontaneous.
"Which one?" asked the Chevalier, diplomatically.
"The one with hair like the haze in the morning."
"The simile is good," confessed the Chevalier. "But there is something
in the eye which should warn a man."
"Eye? Can you tell the color of an eye from this distance? It's more
than I can do."
The Chevalier's tan became a shade darker. "Perhaps it was the
reflection of the sun."
Victor swung his hat from his head gallantly. The Chevalier bowed
stiffly; the pain in his heart stopped the smile which would have
stirred his lips. The lad at his side had faith in women, and he
should never know that yonder beauty had played cup and ball with his,
the Chevalier's, heart. How nonchalant had been her cruelty the
preceding night! That letter! The Chevalier's eyes snapped with anger
and indignation as he replaced his hat.
Pages:
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355