only. In the first rout of the surprise some story of an adopted
daughter was set abroad hastily, I believe. You know 'adopted' with a
peculiar accent on the word--and it was plausible enough. I have been
told that at that time she looked extremely youthful by his side, I mean
extremely youthful in expression, in the eyes, in the smile. She must
have been . . ."

Blunt pulled himself up short, but not so short as not to let the
confused murmur of the word "adorable" reach our attentive ears.

The heavy Mills made a slight movement in his chair. The effect on me
was more inward, a strange emotion which left me perfectly still; and for
the moment of silence Blunt looked more fatal than ever.

"I understand it didn't last very long," he addressed us politely again.
"And no wonder! The sort of talk she would have heard during that first
springtime in Paris would have put an impress on a much less receptive
personality; for of course Allegre didn't close his doors to his friends
and this new apparition was not of the sort to make them keep away.
After that first morning she always had somebody to ride at her bridle
hand. Old Doyen, the sculptor, was the first to approach them. At that
age a man may venture on anything. He rides a strange animal like a
circus horse. Rita had spotted him out of the corner of her eye as he
passed them, putting up his enormous paw in a still more enormous glove,
airily, you know, like this" (Blunt waved his hand above his head), "to
Allegre. He passes on. All at once he wheels his fantastic animal round
and comes trotting after them. With the merest casual '_Bonjour_,
Allegre' he ranges close to her on the other side and addresses her, hat
in hand, in that booming voice of his like a deferential roar of the sea
very far away. His articulation is not good, and the first words she
really made out were 'I am an old sculptor. . . Of course there is that
habit. . . But I can see you through all that. . . '

He put his hat on very much on one side. 'I am a great sculptor of
women,' he declared. 'I gave up my life to them, poor unfortunate
creatures, the most beautiful, the wealthiest, the most loved. . . Two
generations of them. . . Just look at me full in the eyes, _mon enfant_.'

"They stared at each other. Dona Rita confessed to me that the old
fellow made her heart beat with such force that she couldn't manage to
smile at him. And she saw his eyes run full of tears. He wiped