eyes.

"I am sorry they put you to the trouble of coming out here," she said.

"Why, mademoiselle? Because I find you picking green beans?"

"No; not that. But one has one's pride. This is my garden. I keep it!
Look at it!" And she waved her hand with a gesture of contempt.

De Vasselot looked gravely round him. Then, after a pause, he made a
movement of the deepest despair.

"Yes, mademoiselle," he said, with a great sigh, "it is a wilderness."

"And now you are laughing at me."

"I, mademoiselle?" And he faced her tragic eyes.

"You think I am a woman."

De Vasselot spread out his hands in deprecation, as if, this time, she
had hit the mark.

"Yes," he said slowly.

"I mean you think we are only capable of wearing pretty clothes and
listening to pretty speeches, and that anything else is beyond our grasp
altogether."

"Nothing in the world, mademoiselle, is beyond your grasp, except"--he