All men had in one way been the same to her; but now she realized
that there was a world-wide difference between her Judge Carcasson, her
little Clerk of the Court, and this young man whose eyes drank hers. She
had often been excited, even wildly agitated, had been like a sprite let
loose in quiet ways; but that was mere spirit. Here was body and senses
too; here was her whole being alive to a music, which had an aching
sweetness and a harmony coaxing every sense into delight.
"To-morrow evening, by the flume, where the beechtrees are--come--at six.
I want to speak with you. Will you come?"
Thus whispered the maker of this music of the senses, who directed the
charades, but who was also directing the course of another life than his
own.
"Yes, if I can," was Zoe's whispered reply, and the words shook as she
said them; for she felt that their meeting in the beech-trees by the
flume would be of consequence beyond imagination.
Judge Carcasson had always said that Zoe had judgment beyond her years;
M. Fille had remarked often that she had both prudence and shrewdness as
well as a sympathetic spirit; but M. Fille's little whispering sister,
who could never be tempted away from her home to any house, to whom the
market and the church were like pilgrimages to distant wilds, had said to
her brother:
"Wait, Armand--wait till Zoe is waked, and then prudence and wisdom will
be but accident.
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