"This is even more trying, in a pleasant way, to a lonely old
fellow like me," he was about to add, "than the unexpected
civility of the hot cup of coffee years ago"; but remembering
what recollections even that trifling circumstance might recall,
he checked himself.
"More trying than what?" asked Rose, leading him to a chair.
"Ah! I forget. I am in my dotage already!" he answered,
confusedly. "I have not got used just yet to the pleasure of
seeing your kind face again." It was indeed a pleasure to look at
that face now, after Lomaque's last experience of it. Three years
of repose, though they had not restored to Rose those youthful
attractions which she had lost forever in the days of the Terror,
had not passed without leaving kindly outward traces of their
healing progress. Though the girlish roundness had not returned
to her cheeks, or the girlish delicacy of color to her
complexion, her eyes had recovered much of their old softness,
and her expression all of its old winning charm. What was left of
latent sadness in her face, and of significant quietness in her
manner, remained gently and harmlessly--remained rather to show
what had been once than what was now.
When they were all seated, there was, however, something like a
momentary return to the suspense and anxiety of past days in
their faces, as Trudaine, looking earnestly at Lomaque, asked,
"Do you bring any news from Paris?"
"None," he replied; "but excellent news, instead, from Rouen.
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