You must learn to love these
too, little Wonder; they are more beautiful than flowers."
"Oh, no, Daddy, they are not--"
"Antony," said Beatrice, "how strange you are! Would you poison her?
See, dear," (turning to Wonder) "Daddy is only teasing. Let us throw
them away. They are nasty, nasty things. Promise me never to gather
them, won't you, Wonder?"
"Yes, mother. I don't like them. They frighten me."
Antony turned into a by-path with a strange laugh, and was lost to them
in the wood.
CHAPTER VII
THE LOVERS OF SILENCIEUX
Silencieux often spoke to Antony now. Sometimes a sudden, startling word
when he was writing late at night; sometimes long tender talks; once a
terrible whisper. But all this time she never opened her eyes. The
lashes still lay wet upon her cheeks, and when she spoke her lips seemed
hardly to move, only to smile with a deeper meaning, an intenser life.
Indeed, at these times, her face shone with so great a brightness that
Antony's vision was dazzled, and to his gaze she seemed almost
featureless as a star.
Once he had begged to see her eyes.
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