He spoke fast; his eyes flashed with the old light, half pleading, half impertinent, his chin was lifted with the old defiant tilt.  The effect was gained.  Blake’s severity fell from him, and with a quick gesture of affection he caught him by the shoulder.

“I’m well reproved!” he said.  “Well reproved!  ’Twas quite the right way of telling me to mind my own affairs.  And if she were my sister—­” He turned again to the picture, but as his eyes met the mirrored eyes with their profound, inscrutable look, his words broke off unaccountably.

“Yes, mon ami?  If she were your sister—?” Max, with eager, stealthy glance, was following his expressions.

But he did not answer; he stood lost in contemplation, speculating, he knew not why, upon the question in the mirrored face.

CHAPTER XXIII

The studio was in darkness; the old leathern arm-chair was drawn close to the window, and from its capacious depths Blake looked down upon the lights of Paris, while Max, leaning over the balcony, looked upward at the pale May stars clustering like jewelled flowers in the garden of the sky.

They had finished dinner—­a dinner cooked by Blake in the little kitchen beyond the hall, and empty coffee-cups testified to a meal enjoyed to its legitimate end.  The sense of solitude—­of an intimate hour—­lay upon the scene as intangibly and as definitely as did the darkness; but Max, watching the pageant of the stars, resting his light body against the iron railing, was filled with a mental restlessness, the nervous reaction of the day’s triumph.  More than once he glanced at Blake, a little gleam of uncertainty flashing in his eyes, and more than once his glance returned to the sky, as if seeking counsel of its immensity.

Upon what point was Blake speculating?  What were the thoughts at work behind his silence?  The questions tormented him like the flicking of a whip, and he marked with an untoward jealousy the profundity of Blake’s calm—­marked it until, goaded by a sudden loneliness, he cried his fear aloud.

“Ned!  You missed me in these weeks?”

Blake started, giving evidence of a broken dream.  “Missed you, boy?” he said, quietly.  “I didn’t know how much I missed you until I saw you again to-day.”

“And you have made no new friend?”

“Not a solitary one—­man, woman, or child!”

The reply would have satisfied the most suspicious; and Max gave a quick, deep sigh of relief.

“Ah!  I thank God!”

In the darkness, Blake smiled, looking indulgently at the youthful figure silhouetted against the sky.  “Why are you so absurd, boy?” he asked, gently.  “Surely, I have proved myself!”

“Forgive me!  I was jealous!” With one of his engaging impulses, the boy straightened himself and came across the balcony.  “I am a strange creature, Ned!  I want you altogether for myself—­I want to know you satisfied to be all mine!”