"I beg your pardon," said Commander Raffleton. "I'm afraid I have
disturbed you."
He remembered afterwards that in his confusion he had spoken to her
in English. But she answered him in French, a quaint, old-fashioned
French such as one rarely finds but in the pages of old missals. He
would have had some difficulty in translating it literally, but the
meaning of it was, adapted to our modern idiom:
"Don't mention it. I'm so glad you've come."
He gathered she had been expecting him. He was not quite sure
whether he ought not to apologise for being apparently a little
late. True, he had no recollection of any such appointment. But
then at that particular moment Commander Raffleton may be said to
have had no consciousness of anything beyond just himself and the
wondrous other beside him. Somewhere outside was moonlight and a
world; but all that seemed unimportant. It was she who broke the
silence.
"How did you get here?" she asked.
He did not mean to be enigmatical. He was chiefly concerned with
still gazing at her.
"I flew here," he answered. Her eyes opened wider at that, but with
interest, not doubt.
"Where are your wings?" she asked. She was leaning sideways, trying
to get a view of his back.
He laughed. It made her seem more human, that curiosity about his
back.
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