to the softest grey. Opposite the
windows the large alcove opened beneath banks of clouds which plaster
Cupids drew aside, leaning over, and peeping saucily towards the bed.
And like the windows, the alcove was curtained with coarsely hemmed
calico, whose simplicity seemed strange in this room where lingered a
perfume of whilom luxury and voluptuousness.

Seated near a pier table, on which a little kettle bubbled over a
spirit-lamp, Albine intently watched the alcove curtains. She was
gowned in white, her hair gathered up in an old lace kerchief, her hands
drooping wearily, as she kept watch with the serious mien of youthful
womanhood. A faint breathing, like that of a slumbering child, could be
heard in the deep silence. But she grew restless after a few minutes,
and could not restrain herself from stepping lightly towards the alcove
and raising one of the curtains. On the edge of the big bed lay Serge,
apparently asleep, with his head resting on his bent arm. During his
illness his hair had lengthened, and his beard had grown. He looked very
white, with sunken eyes and pallid lips.

Moved by the sight Albine was about to let the curtain fall again. But
Serge faintly murmured, 'I am not asleep.'

He lay perfectly still with his head on his arm, without stirring even
a finger, as if overwhelmed by delightful weariness. His eyes had slowly
opened, and his breath blew lightly on one of his hands, raising the
golden down on his fair skin.

'I heard you,' he murmured again. 'You were walking very gently.'*

* From this point in the original Serge and Albine thee and thou
one another; but although this _tutoiement_ has some bearing on
the development of the story, it was impossible to preserve it
in an English translation.--ED.

His voice enchanted her. She went up to his bed and crouched beside it
to bring her face on a level with his own. 'How are you?' she asked, and
then continued: 'Oh! you are well now. Do you know, I used to cry the
whole way home when I came back from over yonder with bad news of you.
They told me you were delirious, and that if your dreadful fever did
spare your life, it would destroy your reason. Oh, didn't I kiss your
uncle Pascal when he brought you here to recruit your health!'

Then she tucked in his bed-clothes like a young mother.

'Those burnt-up rocks over yonder, you see, were no good to you. You
need trees, and coolness, and quiet. The doctor hasn't even told a soul