"I told you that we had gone back seven
centuries. This fog comes in from the Morbihan sea where
Arthur and his knights went sailing to find the Holy
Greal. They have not come back. And south yonder is the
country of the Druids. I will take you to-morrow and
show you twenty thousand of their menhirs, and then we
will sail away to an island where there is an altar that
the serpent worshippers built ages before Christ."
Lisa laughed. He was not often in this playful mood.
She panted as she toiled up the dark little street, a
step behind him, but he did not think of giving her his
arm. He had grown accustomed to regard himself as
the invalid now, and the one who needed care.
"I am going for letters," he called back, diving into a
dingy alley. The baby and its bonne were near Lisa.
The child never was out of her sight for, a moment. She
waited, standing a little apart from Colette to watch
whether the passers-by would notice the baby. When one
or two of the gloomy and stolid women who hurried past in
their wooden sabots clicked their fingers to it, she
could not help smiling gayly and bidding them good-day.
The fog was stifling. As she waited she gave a tired
gasp. Colette ran to her. "Madame is going to be ill!"
"No, no! Don't frighten monsieur."
George came out of the gate at the moment.
"Going to faint again, Lisa?" he said, with an annoyed
glance around the street. "Your attacks do choose the
most malapropos times----"
"Oh, dear no, George! I am quite well quite.
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