She stood still.
Pierre had watched this scene intently, his chin in his hands, his elbows
on his knees. Presently he drew himself up, ran a finger meditatively
along his lip, and said to himself: "It is perfect. She is carved from
the core of nature. But this thing has danger for her. . . .
'bien!' . . . ah!"
A change in the scene before him caused this last expression of surprise.
Hilton, rousing from the enchanting pantomime, took a step towards her;
but she raised her hand pleadingly, restrainingly, and he paused. With
his eyes he asked her mutely why. She did not answer, but, all at once
transformed into a thing of abundant sprightliness, ran down the
hillside, tossing up her arms gaily. Yet her face was not all
brilliance. Tears hung at her eyes. But Hilton did not see these.
He did not run, but walked quickly, following her; and his face had a
determined look. Immediately, a man rose up from behind a rock on the
same side of the ravine, and shook clenched fists after the departing
figures; then stood gesticulating angrily to himself, until, chancing
to look up, he sighted Pierre, and straightway dived into the underbrush.
Pierre rose to his feet, and said slowly: "Hilton, here may be trouble
for you also. It is a tangled world."
Towards evening Pierre sauntered to the house of Ida's father.
Pages:
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27