say such things?” She turned to me. “Really, Mr. Knox, they are all fables.”
“In fables we renew our youth,” said Madame.
“Ah,” sighed Colonel Menendez; “our youth, our youth.”
“Why sigh, Juan, why regret?” cried Madame, immediately. “Old age is only tragic to those who have never been young.”
She directed a glance toward him as she spoke those words, and as I had felt when I had seen his tragic face on the veranda that morning I felt again in detecting this look of Madame de Stämer’s. The yearning yet selfless love which it expressed was not for my eyes to witness.
“Thank God, Marie,” replied the Colonel, and gallantly kissed his hand to her, “we have both been young, gloriously young.”
When, at the termination of this truly historic dinner, the ladies left us:
“Remember, Juan,” said Madame, raising her white, jewelled hand, and holding the fingers characteristically curled, “no excitement, no billiards, no cards.”
Colonel Menendez bowed deeply, as the invalid wheeled herself from the room, followed by Miss Beverley. My heart was beating delightfully, for in the moment of departure the latter had favoured me with a significant glance, which seemed to say, “I am looking forward to a chat with you presently.”
“Ah,” said Colonel Menendez, when we three men found ourselves alone, “truly I am blessed in the autumn of my life with such charming companionship. Beauty and wit, youth and discretion. Is he not a happy man who possesses all these?”
“He should be,” said Harley, gravely.
