was essentially and completely the young animal;
not the heavy, sleek, and self-contented young animal that the northern
countries breed, but the frolicsome, playful, fiery young animal that
has been many times warmed by the sun.

Hermione felt that Artois' mood to-night echoed his mood at Frisio's,
and suddenly she thought once more of the visitors' book and of what he
had written there, surely in a moment of almost heated impulse. And as
she thought of it she was moved to speak of her thought. She had so many
secret reserves from Emile now that this one she could dispense with.

"You remember that night when I met you on the sea?" she said to him.

He looked away from Vere and answered:

"Yes. What about it?"

"When I was at the Scoglio di Frisio I looked again over that wonderful
visitors' book."

"Did you?"

"Yes. And I saw what you had written."

Their eyes met. She wondered if by the expression in hers he divined
why she had made that expedition, moved by what expectation, by what
curiosity. She could tell nothing by his face, which was calm and
inscrutable.

After an instant's pause he said:

"Do you know from whom those words come?"

"No. Are they your own?"

"Victor Hugo's. Do you like them?"

But her eyes were asking him a question, and he saw it.

"What is it?" he said.

"Why did you write them?" she said.

"I had to write something. You made me."

"Vere suggested it first."

He looked again at Vere, but only for a moment. She was laughing at
something the Marchesino was saying.

"Did she?--Oh! Take some of that salade a la Russe. I gave the chef the
recipe for it.--Did she?"

"Don't you remember?"

"Those words were in my head. I put them down."

"Are you fond of them?"

Her restless curiosity was still quite unsatisfied.

"I don't know. But one has puzzled about conscience. Hasn't one?"

He glanced at the Marchesino, who was bending forward to Vere, and
illustrating something he was telling her by curious undulating gestures
with both hands that suggested a flight.

"At least some of us have," he continued. "And some never have, and
never will."

Hermione understood the comment on their fellow-guest.

"Do you think that saying explains it satisfactorily?" she said.

"I believe sometimes we know a great deal more than we know we know," he
answered. "That sounds like some nonsense game with words, but it's the
best way to put it. Conscience seems to speak out of the sile