"
At this the woman was wiping her own eyes; and, making soft sniffing
sounds of uncultivated grief, she went back to her work of strewing wet
garments upon the grass.
Caius felt that O'Shea's wife had read the mind of the angels aright.
CHAPTER V.
TO THE HIGHER COURT.
If Caius, as he went his way carrying the moss and budding flowers,
could have felt convinced with O'Shea's wife that Le Maitre was dead, he
would have been a much happier man. He could not admit the woman's
logic. Still, he was far happier than he had been an hour before. Le
Maitre might be dead. Josephine did not love Le Maitre. He felt that
now, at least, he understood her life.
Having the flowers, the very first darlings of the spring, in his hand,
he went, in the impulse of the new sympathy, and knocked at her house
door. He carried his burden of moss, earth, moisture, and little gray
scaly insects that, having been disturbed, crawled in and out of it,
boldly into the room, whose walls were still decorated with the faded
garlands of the previous autumn.
"Let me talk to you," said Caius.
The lady and the one young girl who happened to be with her had
bestirred themselves to receive his gift. Making a platter serve as the
rock-ledge from which the living things had been disturbed, they set
them in the window to grow and unfold the more quickly.
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