It is over two months since he came here, and yet
the--er--affair which we had hoped to bring about seems no nearer its
conclusion than when first he came. Of late I have watched him and I have
watched Yvonne; they are certainly good friends, yet not even the frail
barrier of formality appears overcome betwixt them, and I am beginning to
fear that Andrea is not only lukewarm in this matter, but is forgetful of
his uncle's wishes and selfishly indifferent to Monseigneur's projects and
mine, which, as he well knows, are the reason of his sojourn at my ch?teau.
What think you of this, M. de Luynes?"
He shot a furtive glance at me as he spoke, and with his long, lean
forefinger he combed his beard in a nervous fashion.
I gave a short laugh to cover my embarrassment at the question.
"What do I think, Monsieur?" I echoed to gain time. Then, thinking that a
sententious answer would be the most fitting,--"Ma foi! Love is as the
spark that lies latent in flint and steel: for days and weeks these two may
be as close together as you please, and naught will come of it; but one
fine day, a hand--the hand of chance--will strike the one against the
other, and lo!--the spark is born!"
"You speak in parables, Monsieur," was his caustic comment.
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