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60 THE CONFESSION OF A FOOL
to please her. Playfully, smilingly, she pushed up her
sleeve, exposing a beautifully-modelled arm, daintily
rounded and white as milk. Almost immediately, how-
ever, remembering my presence, she hastily pulled it
down again ; but I had seen a spark of the consuming fire
which burned in her eyes, an expression which comes into
the face of a woman in the transports of love.
The burning match which I held between my fingers,
with the intention of lighting a cigarette, accidentally
dropped between my coat and waistcoat.
With a terrified scream, the Baroness rushed at me and
tried to extinguish the flame between her fingers.
"Fire! Fire! " she shrieked, her cheeks scarlet with
excitement.
Losing my self-control, I started back and pressed her
hand against my breast, as if to smother the smouldering
fire ; then, shamefacedly releasing myself and pretend-
ing that I had escaped a very real danger, I thanked
the Baroness, who was still unable to control her
agitation.
We talked till supper-time. The sun had set, and the
moon rose behind the cupola of the Observatory, illumin-
ating the apple trees in the orchard. We amused our-
selves by trying to differentiate between the apples sus-
pended from the branches and half-hidden by the leaves,
which looked sedge-green in the pale moonlight. The
ordinary blood-red Calville seemed but a yellow spot ; the
greyish Astrachan apple had turned green, the Rennet a
dark, brownish red, and the others had changed colour
in proportion. The same thing had happened with the
flowers.
The dahlias presented to our eyes unknown tints, the
stocks shone in the colours of another planet, the hues of
the Chinese asters were indefinable.
"There, you see, Baroness," I said, commenting on the
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