All was right in his world as he sat with her,
reading Maurice Maeterlinck's Alladine and Palomides. The sorrowful
light of the gas-jet might have been May morning sunshine flashing
amber and rose through the glowing windows of the Sainte-Chapelle,
it was so bright for Bibbs. And while the zinc-eater held out to
bring him such golden nights as these, all the king's horses and all
the king's men might not serve to break the spell.
Bibbs read slowly, but in a reasonable manner, as if he were talking;
and Mary, looking at him steadily from beneath her curved fingers,
appeared to discover no fault. It had grown to be her habit to look
at him whenever there was an opportunity. It may be said, in truth,
that while they were together, and it was light, she looked at him all
the time.
When he came to the end of Alladine and Palomides they were silent a
little while, considering together; then he turned back the pages and
said: "There's something I want to read over. This:"
You would think I threw a window open on the dawn.... She has a
soul that can be seen around her--that takes you in its arms like
an ailing child and without saying anything to you consoles you
for everything.
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