I go to Mayence, so I thought I would look at you one moment as I
pass."
Bebee ran down through the wet grass in a tumult of joy. She had never
seen him so early in the day--never so early as this, when nobody was up
and stirring except birds and beasts and peasant folk.
She did not know how pretty she looked herself; like a rain-washed wild
rose; her feet gleaming with dew, her cheeks warm with health and joy;
her sunny clustering hair free from the white cap and tumbling a little
about her throat, because she had been stooping over the carnations.
Flamen loosed the wicket latch, and thought there might be better ways of
spending the day than in the gray shadows of old Mechlin.
"Will you give me a draught of water?" he asked her as he crossed the
garden.
"I will give you breakfast," said Bebee, happy as a bird. She felt no
shame for the smallness of her home; no confusion at the poverty of
her little place; such embarrassments are born of self-consciousness,
and Bebee had no more self-consciousness than her own sweet, gray
lavender-bush blowing against the door.
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