ight, and made a cheerful living foreground to the
blue sky beyond the farther door. The light and ardour of the scene
gave him a thrill of pleasure, and hurried his footsteps. The air was
palpitating with sleepy comfort round him, and he felt a new vitality
pass into him: his imagination was feeding his enfeebled body; his
active brain was giving him a fresh counterfeit of health. The hectic
flush on his pale face deepened. He came to the wooden steps of the
piazza, or stoop, and then paused a moment, as if for breath; but,
suddenly conscious of what he was doing, he ran briskly up the steps,
knocked with his cane upon the door jamb, and, without waiting, stepped
inside.

Between him and the outer door, against the ardent blue background,
stood Sophie Farcinelle--the English faced Sophie--a little heavy,
a little slow, but with the large, long profile which is the type
of English beauty--docile, healthy, cow-like. Her face, within her
sunbonnet, caught the reflected light, and the pink calico of her dress
threw a glow over her cheeks and forehead, and gave a good gleam to her
eyes. She had in her hands a dish of strawberries. It was a charming
picture in the eyes of a man to whom the feelings of robustness and
health were mostly a reminiscence. Yet, while the first impression
was on him, he contrasted Sophie with the impetuous, fiery-hearted
Christine, with her dramatic Gallic face and blood, to the latter's
advantage, in spite of the more harmonious setting of this picture.

Sophie was in place in this old farmhouse, with its dormer windows, with
the weaver's loom in the large kitchen, the meat-block by the fireplace,
and the big bread-tray by the stove, where the yeast was as industrious
as the reapers beyond in the fields. She was in keeping with the chromo
of the Madonna and the Child upon the wall, with the sprig of holy palm
at the shrine in the corner, with the old King Louis blunderbuss above
the chimney.

Sophie tried to take off her sunbonnet with one hand, but the knot
tightened, and it tipped back on her head, giving her a piquant air. She
flushed.

"Oh, m'sieu'!" she said in English, "it's kind of you to call. I am
quite glad--yes."

Then she turned round to put the strawberries upon a table, but he was
beside her in an instant and took the dish out of her hands. Placing it
on the table, he took a couple of strawberries in his fingers.

"May I?" he asked in French.

She nodded as she whipped off t