rror, a couple of chairs upholstered in horsehairs
and an iron bedstead; with a white counterpane; above it was a bowl for
holy water, and a sprig of boxwood.

She gave him a long kiss on the mouth.

"I do love you, do you know!"

"Quite sure?"

"Oh yes! And you?"

"I too, I love you. I wouldn't have believed that I could love you so!"

"Then it came afterwards."

"It always comes afterwards."

"That's true, what you've just said, Robert. Before--one doesn't know."

She shook her head.

"I was very ill yesterday."

"Have you seen Trublet? What did he say?"

"He told me that I needed rest, and quiet. My darling, we must be
sensible for another fortnight. Do you mind?"

"I do."

"So do I. But what would you have?"

He strolled round the room two or three times, looking into every
corner. She watched him with some little uneasiness, dreading lest he
should ask her questions about her poor jewels and her cheap trinkets,
which were modest enough as presents, but she could not in every case
explain how she came to receive them. One may say anything one pleases,
of course, but one may contradict oneself, and get into trouble, and
that assuredly is not worth while. She diverted his attention.

"Robert, open my glove-box."

"What have you got in your glove-box?"

"The violets you gave me the first time. Darling, don't leave me! Don't
go away. When I think that from one day to the next you may go to some
foreign country, to London, to Constantinople, I feel crazy."

He comforted her, telling her that there had been some thought of
sending him to The Hague. But he was determined not to go; he would get
himself attached to the Minister's staff.

"You promise?"

He gave the promise in all sincerity. And she became quite cheerful.

Pointing to the little wardrobe with its looking-glass, she said:

"Look, darling, it's there that I study my part. When you came, I was
working over my scene in the fourth. I take advantage of being alone to
try for the exact tone. I seek a broad, mellow effect. If I were to
listen to Romilly I should mince my words, and the result would be
wretched. I have to say. 'I do not fear you.' It's the great moment of
the part. Do you know how Romilly would have me say: 'I do not fear
you'? I'll show you, I am to raise my hand to my nose, open my fingers
and speak one word to each finger separately, in a particular tone, with
a special expression 'I, do, not, fear, you,' as if I were