reminded me of
frozen vinegar, carved into human shape; yet she had fine manners, and
excused herself with dignity for not rising to salute us, being lame, as
her nephew knew. For Yvon, though he kissed her hand (a thing I had
never seen before), I thought there was little love in the greeting; nor
did he seem oppressed with grief when she excused herself also from
coming to sup with us.

At supper, we three together at a table that was like a small island of
warm pleasantness in the great hollow dining-hall, Yvon was full of wild
talk, we two others mostly listening. He had everything to tell, about
the voyage, about his new friends, all of whom were noble and beautiful
and clever.

"Figure to yourself, Valerie!" he cried. "I found our family there; the
most noble, the most gigantic persons in the world! Thy cousin Jambon,
it is a giant, eight feet high, at the least. He denies it, he is the
soul of modesty, but I have eyes, and I see. This man has the soul
greater than his vast body; we have discussed life, death, in short, the
Infinite, we three, Jambon and Jacques and I. He has a father--both have
fathers! it is the course of nature. The father of D'Arthenay here is a
prince, a diamond of the old rock; ah! if our father of sainted memory
could have known M. D'Arthenay _pere_, Valerie, he would have known the
brother of his soul, as their sons know each other. Not so, Jacques? But
_le pere_ Bellefort, Valerie, he is gigantesque, like his son. These
rocks, these towers, they have the hearts of children, the smiles of a
crowing infant. You laugh, D'Arthenay? I say something incorrect? how
then?"

He had said nothing incorrect, I told him; I only thought it would be
surprising to hear Father Belfort crow, as he hardly spoke three times
in the day.

"True! but what silence! the silence of fullness, of benevolence.
Magnificent persons, not to be approached for goodness."

So he rattled on, while his sister's blue eyes grew wider and wider. I
did not in truth know what to say. I hardly recognised our plain people
in the human wonders that Yvon was describing; I could hardly keep my
countenance when he told her about Mlle. Roc, an angel of pious dignity.
I fancied Abby transported here, and set down at this table, all flowers
and perfumed fruits and crimson-shaded lights; the idea seemed to me
comical, though now I know that Abby Rock would do grace to any table,
if it were the President's. I was young then, and knew