"I loved
your dear eyes as you loved my hair. But I love it twice as much now.
I----"
He cut her short. "I don't think. I _know_. _Cherie_, you need have had
no fear. I shall worship you after this."
"She could never have been so lovely before. Her hair is like spun
glass," Dierdre tried to atone. "People would turn to look at her in the
street. Monsieur le Capitaine, you should be proud of such a beautiful
wife."
"I am," the man answered, "proud of her beauty, more proud of her
heart."
"But it is I who am proud!" the woman caught him up. "He has lost his
dear eyes that all women admired, yet he has won honours such as few men
have. What does it matter about my poor hair? You can see by the ribbons
on his breast, Mademoiselle, what he is--what he has done for his
country. You also, Monsieur, you see----"
"I don't see, Madame, because I, too, am blind," said Brian. "But I
feel--I feel that your husband has won something which means more than
his eyes, more than all his honours and decorations: a great love."
"You are _blind_!" exclaimed the Frenchwoman. "I should never have
guessed. Ah, Madame, it is I who must now ask your pardon! I called you
'Mademoiselle.' Already I had forgiven you what you said in error. But I
did not understand, or the forgiveness would have been easier. Your
first thought was for your husband--your blind husband--just as my
thought always is and will be for mine! You wanted him to have a place
by the fire.
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