So she sat down and began, he taking every care of her.

They had the merriest supper, and even the champagne, more of which he gave her, did not taste so nasty after the first sip.
She had quail and salad and a wonderful ice--better than any, even on the day of the holiday for Moravia's wedding far away in Rome; and there were marrons glaces, too, and other divine bon-bons--and strawberries and cream! She had never enjoyed herself so much in her whole life.

Her perfectly innocent prattle enchanted Michael more and more with its touches of shrewd common sense.

He drank a good deal of champagne, too--and finally, when it came to cutting the cake time, a wild thought began to enter his head.
The icing was rather hard, and he had to help her--and stood beside her, very near.
She looked up smilingly and saw something in his face.

It caused her a sudden wild emotion of she knew not what--and then she felt very nervous and full of fear.
She moved abruptly away from him to the other side of the table, leaving the cake--and stood looking at him with great, troubled, violet eyes.
He followed her.
"You little, sweet darling!" he whispered, his voice very deep.