"Well, she had them—she made them. Mind you, I don't deny for a moment," he added, "that it was very, very wonderful!"
Something in his tone prevented me for a while from trusting myself to speak. At last I said: "How did she come to know where you live?"
"By remembering the address on the little label the shop-people happily left sticking to the frame I had had made for my photograph."
"And how was she dressed?"
"In mourning, my own dear. No great depths of crape, but simple and scrupulous black. She had in her bonnet three small black feathers. She carried a little muff of astrachan. She has near the left eye," he continued, "a tiny vertical scar———"
I stopped him short. "The mark of a caress from her husband." Then I added: "How close you must have been to her!" He made no answer to this, and I thought he blushed, observing which I broke straight off. "Well, goodbye."
"You won't stay a little?" He came to me again tenderly, and this time I suffered him. "Her visit had its beauty," he murmured as he held me, "but yours has a greater one."
