The poppy draught was at his lips.
The extreme consciousness, which was both his strength and his curse,
sank down for a moment and profoundly slept.

"Vere!" he said. "Vere, do I disturb you?"

The girl turned softly on the bench and looked at him.

"No. I often come here. I like to be here at nightfall. Madre knows
that. Did she tell you?"

"No."

"You guessed?"

"I met Gaspare."

He stood near her.

"Where is Madre?"

"On the terrace. She preferred to stay quietly there. And so you have
been working very hard?"

He spoke gently, half smilingly, but not at all derisively.

"Yes. But how did you know?"

"I gathered it from something your mother said. Do you know, Vere, I
think soon she will begin to wonder what you do when you are shut up for
so long in your room."

The girl's face looked troubled for a moment.

"She doesn't--she has no idea."

"Oh no."

Vere was silent for a while.

"I wonder if I ought to tell her, Monsieur Emile," she said at length.

"Tell her!" Artois said, hastily. "But I thought--"

He checked himself, suddenly surprised at the keenness of his own desire
to keep their little secret.

"I know. You mean what I said the other day. But--if Madre should be
hurt. I don't think I have ever had a secret from her before, a real
secret. But--it's like this. If Madre knows I shall feel horribly
self-conscious, because of what I told you--her having tried and given
it up. I shall feel guilty. Is it absurd?"

"No."

"And--and--I don't believe I shall be able to go on. Of course some day,
if it turns out that I ever can do anything, I must tell. But that would
be different. If it's certain that you can do a thing well it seems to
me that you have a right to do it. But--till then--I'm a little coward,
really."

She ended with a laugh that was almost deprecating.

"Don't tell your mother yet, Vere," said Artois, decisively. "It is as
you say: if you told her before you have thoroughly tried your wings
you might be paralyzed. When, if ever, you can show her something really
good she will be the first to encourage you. But--till then--I think
with you that her influence in that direction would probably be
discouraging. Indeed, I feel sure of it."

"But if she should really begin to wonder! Perhaps she will ask. It's
absurd, but I can't help feeling as if we, you and I, were conspirators,
Monsieur Emile."

He laughed happily.

"What a blessed place this is!" he said. "One is