It was not out of the way that a spirit of camaraderie
should spring up. Besides, she was young, she was charmingly pretty,
she was French, and—she obviously liked him. At the same time, there was something indescribable—a certain
indefinable atmosphere of other places, other times—that made him try
hard to remain on his guard, and sometimes made him catch his breath
with a sudden start. It was all rather like a delirious dream, half
delight, half dread, he confided in a whisper to Dr. Silence; and more
than once he hardly knew quite what he was doing or saying, as though
he were driven forward by impulses he scarcely recognised as his own. And though the thought of leaving presented itself again and again to
his mind, it was each time with less insistence, so that he stayed on
from day to day, becoming more and more a part of the sleepy life of
this dreamy mediaeval town, losing more and more of his recognisable
personality. Soon, he felt, the Curtain within would roll up with an
awful rush, and he would find himself suddenly admitted into the secret
purposes of the hidden life that lay behind it all. Only, by that time,
he would have become transformed into an entirely different being. And, meanwhile, he noticed various little signs of the intention to
make his stay attractive to him: flowers in his bedroom, a more
comfortable arm-chair in the corner, and even special little extra
dishes on his private table in the dining-room. Conversations, too,
with “Mademoiselle Ilsé” became more and more frequent and pleasant,
and although they seldom travelled beyond the weather, or the details
of the town, the girl, he noticed, was never in a hurry to bring them
to an end, and often contrived to interject little odd sentences that
he never properly understood, yet felt to be significant. And it was these stray remarks, full of a meaning that evaded him, that
pointed to some hidden purpose of her own and made him feel uneasy. They all had to do, he felt sure, with reasons for his staying on in
the town indefinitely. “And has M’sieur not even yet come to a decision?” she said softly in
his ear, sitting beside him in the sunny yard before _déjeuner_, the
acquaintance having progressed with significant rapidity. “Because, if
it’s so difficult, we must all try together to help him!”

The question startled him, following upon his own thoughts. It was
spoken with a pretty laugh, and a stray bit of hair across one eye, as
she turned and peered at him half roguishly. Possibly he did not quite
understand the French of it, for her near presence always confused his
small knowledge of the language distressingly. Yet the words, and her
manner, and something else that lay behind it all in her mind,
frightened him. It gave such point to his feeling that the town was
waiting for him to make his mind up on some important matter. At the same time, her voice, and the fact that she was there so close
beside him in her soft dark dress, thrilled him inexpressibly. “It is true I find it difficult to leave,” he stammered, losing his way
deliciously in the depths of her eyes, “and especially now that
Mademoiselle Ilsé has come.”

He was surprised at the success of his sentence, and quite delighted
with the little gallantry of it. But at the same time he could have
bitten his tongue off for having said it. “Then after all you like our little town, or you would not be pleased
to stay on,” she said, ignoring the compliment. “I am enchanted with it, and enchanted with you,” he cried, feeling
that his tongue was somehow slipping beyond the control of his brain. And he was on the verge of saying all manner of other things of the
wildest description, when the girl sprang lightly up from her chair
beside him, and made to go. “It is _soupe à l’onion_ to-day!” she cried, laughing back at him
through the sunlight, “and I must go and see about it. Otherwise, you
know, M’sieur will not enjoy his dinner, and then, perhaps, he will
leave us!”

He watched her cross the courtyard, moving with all the grace and
lightness of the feline race, and her simple black dress clothed her,
he thought, exactly like the fur of the same supple species. She turned
once to laugh at him from the porch with the glass door, and then
stopped a moment to speak to her mother, who sat knitting as usual in
her corner seat just inside the hall-way. But how was it, then, that the moment his eye fell upon this ungainly
woman, the pair of them appeared suddenly as other than they were? Whence came that transforming dignity and sense of power that enveloped
them both as by magic? What was it about that massive woman that made
her appear instantly regal, and set her on a throne in some dark and
dreadful scenery, wielding a sceptre over the red glare of some
tempestuous orgy? And why did this slender stripling of a girl,
graceful as a willow, lithe as a young leopard, assume suddenly an air
of sinister majesty, and move with flame and smoke about her head, and
the darkness of night beneath her feet? Vezin caught his breath and sat there transfixed. Then, almost
simultaneously with its appearance, the queer notion vanished again,
and the sunlight of day caught them both, and he heard her laughing to
her mother about the _soupe à l’onion_, and saw her glancing back at
him over her dear little shoulder with a smile that made him think of a
dew-kissed rose bending lightly before summer airs. And, indeed, the onion soup was particularly excellent that day,
because he saw another cover laid at his small table, and, with
fluttering heart, heard the waiter murmur by way of explanation that
“Ma’mselle Ilsé would honour M’sieur to-day at _déjeuner_, as her
custom sometimes is with her mother’s guests.”

So actually she sat by him all through that delirious meal, talking
quietly to him in easy French, seeing that he was well looked after,
mixing the salad-dressing, and even helping him with her own hand. And,
later in the afternoon, while he was smoking in the courtyard, longing
for a sight of her as soon as her duties were done, she came again to
his side, and when he rose to meet her, she stood facing him a moment,
full of a perplexing sweet shyness before she spoke—

“My mother thinks you ought to know more of the beauties of our little
town, and _I_ think so too! Would M’sieur like me to be his guide,
perhaps? I can show him everything, for our family has lived here for
many generations.”

She had him by the hand, indeed, before he could find a single word to
express his pleasure, and led him, all unresisting, out into the
street, yet in such a way that it seemed perfectly natural she should
do so, and without the faintest suggestion of boldness or immodesty. Her face glowed with the pleasure and interest of it, and with her
short dress and tumbled hair she looked every bit the charming child of
seventeen that she was, innocent and playful, proud of her native town,
and alive beyond her years to the sense of its ancient beauty.