The Sentinels after delacroix

his words were endearing and sweet. she smiled--for he had called her beautiful, and compared her to a thing she found to be such, her friends the flowers! stars are beautiful, renoir, as is the moon! you are speaking funnily. i am yours, as i am donnelaiths! she did not know how he meant the words he spoke; that he was devoted to her, somehow, that his heart longed for her in a way foreign to her.

it was then he fell, and worriedly she moved to his side. come, renoir, lean upon me--we will find somewhere that you can rest. she coaxed him gently, emerald eyes holding him as she prepared her tired figure to do the same.