“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 as that! Nothing to eat!” “Bread is very good eating. If I might be assured that I shall always have some!” “Well, to-day you shall have something more and better. This morning, seeing the storm, an idea came to me associated with you. It is quite natural, since you are always in my heart and in my thoughts. I told mamma that if the storm continued I would dine at the pension. You can imagine with what joy I listened to the wind all day, and watched the rain and leaves falling, and the dead branches waving in the whirlwind. Thank God, the weather was bad enough for mamma to believe me safe at the pension; and here I am. But we must not fast. I shall go and buy something to eat, and we will play at making dinner by the fire, which will be far more amusing than going to a restaurant.”