"No, but I like you best. I daren't talk to him again. I should start quarrelling with him at once. Straight away. I could never quarrel with you. That's the sympathy between small soul . . . and small soul. Tell me, is your insignificance attracted to mine also?"
"Perhaps, Marianne."
"You say perhaps to everything. Say yes."
"Well, then, yes."
"Are we both small?"
"Yes."
"Both of us?"
"Yes."
"In sympathy?"
"Yes."
The bells:
"Yes—yes—yes!" she laughed; and the little bells tinkled merrily, the shrill little silver bells.
"Uncle, I drink to it."
"To what?"
"To our small . . . sympathy."
"Here goes!"
Their champagne-glasses touched, with a crystal note. They drank.
"What are you drinking to?" asked Paul.
She put her finger to her tiny mouth. She was radiant and, in her excitement, she became very pretty, with her shining eyes. She felt that Brauws was looking at her; and she felt that Brauws was still
