y neck, leaned her temple against my shoulder and began to sob;
but that I could only guess from her slight, convulsive movements because
in our relative positions I could only see the mass of her tawny hair
brushed back, yet with a halo of escaped hair which as I bent my head
over her tickled my lips, my cheek, in a maddening manner.

We sat like two venturesome children in an illustration to a tale, scared
by their adventure. But not for long. As I instinctively, yet timidly,
sought for her other hand I felt a tear strike the back of mine, big and
heavy as if fallen from a great height. It was too much for me. I must
have given a nervous start. At once I heard a murmur: "You had better go
away now."

I withdrew myself gently from under the light weight of her head, from
this unspeakable bliss and inconceivable misery, and had the absurd
impression of leaving her suspended in the air. And I moved away on
tiptoe.

Like an inspired blind man led by Providence I found my way out of the
room but really I saw nothing, till in the hall the maid appeared by
enchantment before me holding up my overcoat. I let her help me into it.
And then (again as if by enchantment) she had my hat in her hand.

"No. Madame isn't happy," I whispered to her distractedly.

She let me take my hat out of her hand and while I was putting it on my
head I heard an austere whisper:

"Madame should listen to her heart."

Austere is not the word; it was almost freezing, this unexpected,
dispassionate rustle of words. I had to repress a shudder, and as coldly
as herself I murmured:

"She has done that once too often."

Rose was standing very close to me and I caught distinctly the note of
scorn in her indulgent compassion.

"Oh, that! . . . Madame is like a child." It was impossible to get the
bearing of that utterance from that girl who, as Dona Rita herself had
told me, was the most taciturn of human beings; and yet of all human
beings the one nearest to herself. I seized her head in my hands and
turning up her face I looked straight down into her black eyes which
should have been lustrous. Like a piece of glass breathed upon they
reflected no light, revealed no depths, and under my ardent gaze remained
tarnished, misty, unconscious.

"Will Monsieur kindly let me go. Monsieur shouldn't play the child,
either." (I let her go.) "Madame could have the world at her feet.
Indeed she has it there only she doesn't care for it."