Yet, while the first impression was on him, he contrasted
Sophie with the impetuous, fiery-hearted Christine, with her dramatic
Gallic face and blood, to the latter's advantage, in spite of the more
harmonious setting of this picture.
Sophie was in place in this old farmhouse, with its dormer windows, with
the weaver's loom in the large kitchen, the meat-block by the fireplace,
and the big bread-tray by the stove, where the yeast was as industrious
as the reapers beyond in the fields. She was in keeping with the chromo
of the Madonna and the Child upon the wall, with the sprig of holy palm
at the shrine in the corner, with the old King Louis blunderbuss above
the chimney.
Sophie tried to take off her sunbonnet with one hand, but the knot
tightened, and it tipped back on her head, giving her a piquant air. She
flushed.
"Oh, m'sieu'!" she said in English, "it's kind of you to call. I am
quite glad--yes."
Then she turned round to put the strawberries upon a table, but he was
beside her in an instant and took the dish out of her hands. Placing it
on the table, he took a couple of strawberries in his fingers.
"May I?" he asked in French.
She nodded as she whipped off the sunbonnet, and replied in her own
language:
"Certainly, as many as you want.
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