"In Europe, of course! Here, apparently, you are easy enough to find."
She leaned her hand against the unpainted door post, and her head fell a little to one side. She looked at me for a moment without speaking, and I thought I recognized the expression that one sees in women's eyes when tears are rising. Suddenly she stepped out upon the cracked slab of stone before the threshold and closed the door behind her. Then she began to smile intently, and I saw that her teeth were as pretty as ever. But there had been tears too.
"Have you been there ever since?" she asked, almost in a whisper.
"Until three weeks ago. And you—you never came back?"
Still looking at me with her fixed smile, she put her hand behind her and opened the door again. "I am not very polite," she said. "Won't you come in?"
"I am afraid I incommode you."
"Oh, no!" she answered, smiling more than ever. And she pushed back the door, with a sign that I should enter.
I went in, following her. She led the way to a small room on the left of the narrow hall, which I supposed to be her parlor, though it was at the back of the house, and we passed the closed door of another apartment which apparently enjoyed a view of the quince-trees. This one looked out upon a
