It was a face without care, without vice, without fear,
and without morals. For the absence of vice with the absence of morals
are not incongruous in a human face. Sophie went into another room for a
moment, and brought back a quaint cut-glass bottle of cordial.
"It is very good," she said, as she took the cork out; "better than peach
brandy or things like that."
He watched her pour it out into a wine-glass, and as soon as he saw the
colour and the flow of it he was certain of its quality.
"That looks like good stuff," he said, as she handed him a glass brimming
over; "but you must have one with me. I can't drink alone, you know."
"Oh, m'sieu', if you please, no," she answered half timidly, flattered by
the glance of his eye--a look of flattery which was part of his stock-in-
trade. It had got him into trouble all his life.
"Ah, madame, but I plead yes!" he answered, with a little encouraging
nod towards her. "Come, let me pour it for you."
He took the odd little bottle and poured her glass as full as his own.
"If Magon were only here--he'd like some, I know," she said, vaguely
struggling with a sense of impropriety, though why, she did not know;
for, on the surface, this was only dutiful hospitality to a distinguished
guest.
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