The gentleman appealed to shook his head in reply, coughed as only a Dutchman can cough, and raising his hand from the bowl of his pipe, went through precisely the same mysterious ceremonial as the Master. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. A familiar ache of wanting made itself more insistent in her belly. The Return 231 II. I shall lose my fees and the laced coat. ‘A little promenade, madame?’ Madame Valade rose from the chintz-covered chair with alacrity and a little rustle of her silken petticoats.
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