impertinence which did not diminish Maxime's admiration for his father
but rather added to its flavour. A boy in Paris would tweak the Good
Lord by the beard, by way of showing affection!

Rosine was silent according to her habit; it was not easy to know her
thoughts as she listened, bent forward, her hands folded and her arms
leaning on the table. Some natures seem made to receive, like the
earth which opens itself silently to every seed. Many seeds fall and
remain dormant; none can tell which will bring forth fruit. The soul
of the young girl was of this kind; her face did not reflect the words
of the reader as did Maxime's mobile features, but the slight flush on
her cheek and the moist glance of her eyes under their drooping lids
showed inward ardour and feeling. She looked like those Florentine
pictures of the Virgin stirred by the magical salutation of the
Archangel. Clerambault saw it all and as he glanced around his little
circle his eye rested with special delight on the fair bending head
which seemed to feel his look.

On this July evening these four people were united in a bond of
affection and tranquil happiness of which the central point was the
father, the idol of the family.




He knew that he was their idol, and by a rare exception this knowledge
did not spoil him, for he had such joy in loving, so much affection
to spread far and wide that it seemed only natural that he should be
loved in return; he was really like an elderly child. After a life of
ungilded mediocrity he had but recently come to be known, and though