Perhaps that is
why I am fated never to stay long in one place."
He answered her in the same mood.
"We'll start at once, shall we, Fatalite? We'll saddle two of the
horses and ride, ride day and night till we come to Montserrat, and
there we shall find your gypsies and their tribe. When you come to my
country there'll be gypsies too, and they shall play and sing for you,
and you'll know what music is for the first time."
"How foolish we are!" Her eyes were wet, but she was smiling. "If
Emile heard me talking like this he would be so angry."
"He talked like this once," Vardri replied. "Poleski was young too not
so very long ago, and he loved someone."
"Yes, I know." She found it almost impossible to think of Emile as a
lover in spite of the photograph she had found, and the words in his
own writing upon his songs. She knew them by heart. "_Emile a Marie.
Sans toi la mort_." And on another, "_Etoile de mon ame! Je vous
adore de tout mon coeur, ton Emile_."
Perhaps it was the memory of this passion of his youth that had made
him kind to her.
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