She carried herself boldly and stepped out freely and easily, like a negress. There was an absence of reserve in her manner; yet there was no lack of womanliness. She had the air of a young person accustomed to decide for herself and for those about her.
"You said yo' name was Fédeau?" she asked, looking squarely at Telèsphore. Her eyes were penetrating—not sharply penetrating, but earnest and dark, and a little searching. He noticed that they were handsome eyes; not so large as Elvina's, but finer in their expression. They started to walk down the track before turning into the lane leading to Trodon's house. The sun was sinking and the air was fresh and invigorating by contrast with the stilling atmosphere of the train.
“You said yo' name was Fédeau?" she asked.
"No," he returned. "My name is Telèsphore Baquette."
"An' my name; it's Zaïda Trodon. It looks like you ought to know me; I don' know w'y."
"It looks that way to me, somehow," he replied. They were satisfied to recognize this
