Gabriel did not stay long; I went with him to the door when he left,
and he said:

"She is prettier than her photograph. I like her, Emilia." I was so
glad.

Constance soon began to take an interest in him; he amused her.

"He is the queerest creature I ever saw," she said; "I can't set
eyes on him without laughing; he is too comic."

Then she fell ill, poor love! They did not meet for a long time. And
every day, when Gabriel came to fetch me for my walk, he only asked
after her as he should have asked after my dearest friend. Of
course, when she got better and he sat with us daily to help me to
amuse her, they were thrown more together. It was a great joy to me
to see how well they got on.

Then she began to tease him. They never talked very much, for all
that. When I come to think of it, it was early last month that
Constance began to say, "How is your friend this morning?" or "I
haven't seen Gabriel for two days; I miss him; he makes me laugh."
But I did not notice it then.

What? Is this all I have to say? It is too ridiculous! Of course she
likes him; one cannot come near him without some love. Besides, she
would like him for my sake. It is all so natural. He, too, did not
often speak of her, does not often speak of her. It is natural,
knowing how I love her, that he should feel at ease with my