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It seems to me just talk; it seems to me like the fancy of a dream. Presently he caught her puzzled glance, and recollected himself, turning on the charm again. Nothing else weighs against it. She wore a plain black dress, reaching almost to her throat—her small oval face, with the large brown eyes, was colourless, delicately expressive, yet with something mysterious in its Sphinx-like immobility. But let that verse tell my secret. She could still remember his face, the perpetually wet lips that turned down at the sides, his drooping Roman eyes. And you need not fear that I shall not give back the sword when I have finished using it.
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