“Comtesse, why do you stop suddenly and blush, and then stare into the fire?  Your grandmother was not, I am sure, in the habit of saying such startling things as to cause you such emotions.”

I looked up at him.  I suppose my eyes were troubled, for he said, so gently: 

“Dear little girl, I won’t tease you.  Tell me, have you read any more books on philosophy lately?”

I drank the last sip of my tea, and held out my cup.  It was nice tea.

“No, I have not had time to read anything.  There, you can take my cup.  You have such pretty things here.  Everything is suitable, and it gives me pleasure.  I don’t feel philosophical; I feel genuine human enjoyment.”

“That is good to know.  Well, we won’t be philosophical, then, we will be humanly happy,” and he sat down beside me.

I took up, idly, a little book that was lying on a table near, because my silly heart had begun to beat again, like Lydia Languish or any vaporish young lady in an early romance.  I looked at the title and Antony looked at me.  I read it over without taking in the sense, and then the name arrested my attention.

“A Digit of the Moon,” I said, “What a queer title!”

“What long eyelashes you have, Comtesse!” said Antony, apropos of nothing.  “They make a great shadow on your cheek, and they have no business to be so dark, with your light, mud-colored hair.”

“How rude, to call my hair mud-colored!” I said, indignantly, “I always thought it blond cendre.”

“So it is, and it shines like burnished metal.  But you are a vain little thing, I expect, and I did not wish to encourage you.”

His voice was full of a caress.  I did not dare to look into his queer cat’s eyes.

“You have black eyelashes yourself, and as I am of the family, why may I not have them too?” I said, pouting.

“Of course you can have them or anything else you wish, to oblige you.  But I should rather like to know how long your hair is when you let it down.  You look as if you had a great quantity there, but probably it is not all your own.”  And he smiled provokingly.

“If I was not afraid of the servants coming in I would undo it to show you,” I replied, with great indignation and a sadden feeling that I, too, could tease.  “I never heard anything so insulting!”

“My servants are well trained.  It is not six o’clock yet.  They won’t come in until half-past six, unless I ring.  You have plenty of time.”

A spirit of coquetterie came over me for the first time in my life.  I took out the two great tortoise-shell pins that held it up, and let my hair tumble down around me.  It falls in heavy waves nearly to my knees.

“That is perfectly beautiful!” said Antony, almost reverently.  “I apologize.  It is your own.”

I got up and shook it out and stood before him.  It hung all round me like a cloak.  Oh, I was in a wicked mood, and I do not defend my conduct.