rth any sort of trouble here. There
isn't even that ridiculous Monsieur George. I understand that the talk
of the coast from here to Cette is that Monsieur George is drowned. Upon
my word I believe he is. And serve him right, too. There's Therese, but
I don't suppose that your love for your sister . . ."

"For goodness' sake don't let her come in and find you here."

Those words recalled me to myself, exorcised the evil spirit by the mere
enchanting power of the voice. They were also impressive by their
suggestion of something practical, utilitarian, and remote from
sentiment. The evil spirit left me and I remained taken aback slightly.

"Well," I said, "if you mean that you want me to leave the room I will
confess to you that I can't very well do it yet. But I could lock both
doors if you don't mind that."

"Do what you like as long as you keep her out. You two together would be
too much for me to-night. Why don't you go and lock those doors? I have
a feeling she is on the prowl."

I got up at once saying, "I imagine she has gone to bed by this time." I
felt absolutely calm and responsible. I turned the keys one after
another so gently that I couldn't hear the click of the locks myself.
This done I recrossed the room with measured steps, with downcast eyes,
and approaching the couch without raising them from the carpet I sank
down on my knees and leaned my forehead on its edge. That penitential
attitude had but little remorse in it. I detected no movement and heard
no sound from her. In one place a bit of the fur coat touched my cheek
softly, but no forgiving hand came to rest on my bowed head. I only
breathed deeply the faint scent of violets, her own particular fragrance
enveloping my body, penetrating my very heart with an inconceivable
intimacy, bringing me closer to her than the closest embrace, and yet so
subtle that I sensed her existence in me only as a great, glowing,
indeterminate tenderness, something like the evening light disclosing
after the white passion of the day infinite depths in the colours of the
sky and an unsuspected soul of peace in the protean forms of life. I had
not known such quietness for months; and I detected in myself an immense
fatigue, a longing to remain where I was without changing my position to
the end of time. Indeed to remain seemed to me a complete solution for
all the problems that life presents--even as to the very death itself.

Only the unwelcome refl