"The whole duty of woman, Joan," he said, opening these eyes upon her, "can be expressed in just one little word--charm." And again at her look of mystification he laughed aloud. "There's--there's babies," suggested Joan after a pause during which she evidently wrestled in vain with the true meaning of his speech. "Dinner is served," said Prosper, rising quickly, and, getting back of her, he pushed her chair to the table, hiding in this way a silent paroxysm of mirth. At dinner, Prosper, unlike Holliwell, made no attempt to draw Joan into talk, but sipped his wine and watched her, enjoying her composed silence and her slow, graceful movements. Afterwards he made a couch for her on the floor before the fire, two skins and a golden cushion, a rug of dull blue which he threw over her, hiding the ugly skirt and boots. He took a violin from the wall and tuned it, Joan watching him with all her eyes. "I don't like what you're playin' now," she told him, impersonally and gently. "I'm tuning up." "Well, sir, I'd be gettin' tired of that if I was you." "I'm almost done," said Prosper humbly. He stood up near her feet at the corner of the hearth, tucked the instrument under his chin and played. It was the "Aubade Provencale," and he played it creditably, with fair skill and with some of the wizardry that his nervous vitality gave to everything he did. At the first note Joan started, her pupils enlarged, she lay still. At the end he saw that she was quivering and in tears. He knelt down beside her, drew the hands from her face. "Why, Joan, what's the matter? Don't you like music?" Joan drew a shaken breath. "It's as if it shook me in here, something trembles in my heart," she said. "I never heerd music before, jest whistlin'." And again she wept. Prosper stayed there on his knee beside her, his chin in his hand. What an extraordinary being this was, what a magnificent wilderness. The thought of exploration, of discovery, of cultivation, filled him with excitement and delight. Such opportunities are rarely given to a man. Even that other most beautiful adventure--yes, he could think this already!--might have been tame beside this one. He looked long at Joan, long into the fire, and she lay still, with the brooding beauty of that first-heard melody upon her face.