"You are tired, my daughter?" asked Felicite, as Brigit frowned with
impatience.
"Yes, _petite mere_."
Felicite, who for the last half hour had been fanning the sleeping
bridegroom to keep off the flies, sighed.
"It is very warm. Why not go? They will clear the table and dance on the
grass, I think."
Everyone left the arbour except her and the old man, and Brigit, feeling
that Joyselle was close on her heels, went into the house and into the
sitting-room.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Joyselle closed the door, and, to her surprise, turned the key. Then he
faced her.
"Brigit," he said, clearing his throat, "do you love me?"
"Love you?" she faltered. "What do you mean?"
"I mean that for thirty-six hours I have doubted you, and that I have
been----" He broke off short, his vivid face intensely expressive.
"But why? Thirty-six hours? That means that--but I did not even see you
yesterday!"
He stood, his arms hanging by his sides, looking at her without a word.
Then, when the pause had grown unbearable, he returned slowly: "The
night before last I saw you with Theo--on the lawn."
A painful blush burnt her face, and, unwontedly abashed, she turned
away.
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