His cheek flushed a little, his eye kindled, humour relaxed his lips.
"No other husband would intrude so little," he rejoined.
"True, there's little love lost between us, Monsieur." She felt exhilaration in talking with him, a kind of joy in measuring word against word; yet a year ago she would have done no more than smile respectfully and give a demure reply if the Seigneur had spoken to her like this.
The Seigneur noted the mixed emotions in her face and the delicate alertness of expression.

As a man of the world, he was inclined to believe that only one kind of experience can bring such looks to a woman's face.

He saw in her the awakening of the deeper interests of life, the tremulous apprehension of nascent emotions and passions which, at some time or other, give beauty and importance to the nature of every human being.

It did not occur to him that the tailor--the mysterious figure in the parish--might be responsible.

He was observant, but not imaginative; he was moved by what he saw, in a quiet, unexplainable manner.
"The government is the best sort of husband.