"_Tant mieux!_ Beauty is a quality like another. And--_voilà mon petit_,
give me the eggs--she loves you?" As she put the question she took the
bowl and began beating the eggs violently yet lightly with a whisk. She
had turned the mixture into her hot saucepan and was holding it over the
fire before the young man answered. He stood, his hands in his
trousers-pockets, his head bent thoughtfully. Then he spoke, and his
words mingled with the hissing of the omelet. "I think she must," he
said with a certain dignified simplicity, "or she would not have
accepted me. But--not as I love her. That could not be, you know."

The eavesdroppers started apart guiltily, and for a second Brigit wanted
to rush up the stairs and out of the house. She had heard too much.

But Joyselle, gently pushing her out of his way, ran down the steps and
with a big laugh threw his arms round his boy and kissed him.

"_Voyons l'amoureux_," he cried, "show me thy face of a lover, little
boy, who only yesterday wore aprons and climbed on my knees to search
for sweets in my pockets!"

Madame Joyselle turned quietly, after having, with a dexterous twist of
her frying-pan, flopped her omelet to its other side. "Victor! And what
brings you back, my man?"

Her pleasant, placid face was a great contrast to his as he rushed at
her and kissed her hot cheek.

"_Va t'en_--you will make me drop Théo's omelet."

Joyselle took Théo's hands in his and looked solemnly at his son. "My