he passed her arm about him and pressed him to her, and with arms
entwined they entered the study.

"How glad I am!" she said. "What a good idea I had!"

With a quick movement she took off her long gray cloak that enveloped
her from head to foot.

"And are you glad?" she asked, as she stood looking at him.

"Can you ask that?"

"Only to hear you say that you are."

"Are you not my only joy, the sweet lamp that gives me light in the
cavern where I work day and night?"

"Dear Victor!"

She was a tall, slender young woman with chestnut hair, whose thick
curls clustering about her forehead almost touched her eyebrows. Her
beautiful eyes were dark, her nose short, while her superb teeth and
rich, ruby-colored lips gave her the effect of a pretty doll; and she
had gayety, playful vivacity, gracious effrontery, and a passionate
caressing glance. Dressed extravagantly, like the Parisian woman who
has not a sou, but who adorns everything she wears, she had an ease,
a freedom, a natural elegance that was charming. With this she had the
voice of a child, a joyous laugh, and an expression of sensibility on
her fresh face.

"I have come to dine with you," she said, gayly, "and I am so hungry."

He made a gesture that was not lost upon her.

"Do I disturb you?" she asked, uneasily.

"Not at all."

"Must you go out?"

"No."

"Then why did you make a gesture that showed indifference, or, at least,
embarrassment?"

"You are mistaken, my little Phillis."

"With any one else I might be mistaken, but with you it is impossible.
You know that between us words are not necessary; that I read in your
eyes what you would say, in your face what you think and feel. Is it not
always so when one loves--as I love you?"

He took her in his arms and kissed her long and tenderly. Then going
to a chair on which he had thrown his coat, he drew from the pocket the
bread that he had bought.

"This is my dinner," he said, showing the bread.

"Oh! I must scold you. Work is making you lose your head. Can you not
take time to eat?"

He smiled sadly.

"It is not time that I want."

He fumbled in his pocket and brought out three big sous.

"I cannot dine at a restaurant with six sous."

She threw herself in his arms.

"O dearest, forgive me!" she cried. "Poor, dear martyr! Dear, great man!
It is I who accuse you, when I ought to embrace your knees. And you do
not scold me; a sad smile is your only reply. And it is really so bad