Launcelot was
plying his water-can for the sixth time that morning when she entered
the court, and she stood in an angle of shadow to feel the air of the
light shower.
"Here she is, and just the same as ever!" exclaimed somebody at the
_salon_ window.
Bessie was startled into a cry of joy. It was Harry Musgrave himself.
Madame Fournier had been honored with his society for quite half an hour
while his little friend was loitering and longing pensively in the
cathedral. All that lost, precious time! Bessie never recollected how
they met, or what they said to each other in the first moments, but
Babette, who witnessed the meeting through the glass door at the end of
the hall which opened on the terrace, had a firm belief ever afterward
that the English ladies and gentlemen embrace with a kiss after
absence--a sign whether of simplicity or freedom of manners, she could
not decide; so she wisely kept her witness to herself, being a sage
person and of discreet experiences.
They returned into the _salon_ together. It was full of the perfume of
roses, of the wavering shadow of leaves on the floor and walls and
ceiling. It looked bright and pretty, and madame, with suave benignity,
explained: "I told Mr. Musgrave that it was better to wait here, and not
play hide-and-seek; Bessie was sure to come soon."
"I saw you in the cathedral, Harry; you passed close by me. It was so
difficult not to cry out!"
"You saw me in the cathedral, and did not run up to me? Oh, Bessie!"
"There were two other gentlemen with you.
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