When she had eaten the ice, he asked her to return to San Michele. It
was so near! They would cross the square and at once discover the
masterpiece in stone. They went. They looked at the St. George and at
the bronze St. Mark. Dechartre saw again on the wall the post-box, and
he recalled with painful exactitude the little gloved hand that had
dropped the letter. He thought it hideous, that copper mouth which had
swallowed Therese's secret. He could not turn his eyes away from it.
All his gayety had fled. She admired the rude statue of the Evangelist.

"It is true that he looks honest and frank, and it seems that, if he
spoke, nothing but words of truth would come out of his mouth."

He replied bitterly:

"It is not a woman's mouth."

She understood his thought, and said, in her soft tone:

"My friend, why do you say this to me? I am frank."

"What do you call frank? You know that a woman is obliged to lie."

She hesitated. Then she said:

"A woman is frank when she does not lie uselessly."