" said Madame Mineur; "I wish to speak with you seriously, my
dear friend." She made a movement as if to place her hand on his
shoulder, but his expression--his face was in the light--caused her to
transfer her plump fingers to her coiffure, which she touched
dexterously. Hubert was disappointed.

"I am listening," he answered; "is it a sermon, or consent--to that
portrait? Come, give in--Elaine." He had never called her by this name
before, and he anxiously awaited the result. But she did not relax her
grave attitude.

"You must know, Monsieur Falcroft, what anxieties we undergo about
Berenice. She is too wild for a French girl, too wild for her age--"

"Oh, let her enjoy her youth," he interrupted.

"Alas! that youth will be soon a thing of the past," she sighed.
"Berenice is past eighteen, and her father and I must consider her
future. Figure to yourself--she dislikes young men, eligible or not, and
you are the only man she tolerates."

"And I am hopelessly ineligible," he laughingly said.

"Why?" asked the mother, quietly.

"Why! Do you know that I am nearing forty? Do you see the pepper and
salt in my hair? After one passes twoscore it is time to think of the
past, not of the future. I am over the brow of the hill; I see the easy
decline of the road--it doesn't seem as long as when I climbed the other
half." He smiled, threw back his strong shoulders, and inhaled a huge
breath of air.

"Truly you are childish," she said; "you are at the best part of your
life, of your career. Yes, Theophile, my husband, who is so chary in his
praise, said that you would go far if you cared." Her low, warm voice,
with its pleading inflections, thrilled him. He took her by the wrist.

"And would it please _you_, if I went far?" She trembled.

"Not too far, dear friend--remember Berenice."

"I remember no one but you," he impatiently answered; and relaxing his
hold, he moved so that the moonlight shone on her face. She was pale. In
her eyes there were fright and hope, decision and delight. He admired
her more than ever.

"Let me paint you, Elaine, these next few weeks. It will be a surprise
for Mineur. And I shall have something to cherish. Never mind about
Berenice. She is a child. I am a middle-aged man. Between us is the
wall--of the years. Never should it be climbed. While you--"

"Be careful--Hubert. Theophile is your friend."

"He is not. I never cared for him. He dragged me out here after he had
been drinking t