t of her skirt, her arms curved, her reddened face bent
down and her lips tightly compressed, as if she had nothing in mind but
the unhooking of her skirt. It dropped to the ground and she stepped
out of it with a soft rustle, like the sound the wind makes in a leafy
garden.

She leaned against the mantelpiece. Her movements were large,
majestic, beautiful, yet dainty and feminine. She pulled off her
stockings. Her legs were round and large and smooth as in a statue of
Michael Angelo's.

She shivered and stopped, overcome by repugnance.

"I feel a little cold," she said in explanation and went on undressing,
revealing her great modesty in violating it.

"Holy Virgin!" the man breathed in a whisper, so as not to frighten
her.

. . . . .

I have never seen a woman so radiantly beautiful. I had never dreamed
of beauty like it. The very first day, her face had struck me by its
regularity and unusual charm, and her tall figure--taller than myself--
had seemed opulent, yet delicate, but I had never believed in such
splendid perfection of form.

In her superhuman proportions she was like some Eve in grand religious
frescoes. Big, soft and supple, broad-shouldered, with a full
beautiful bosom, small feet, and tapering limbs.

In a dreamy voice, going still further in the bestowal of her supreme
gift, she said:

"No one"--she stressed these words with an emphasis amounting to the
mention of a certain name--"/no one/--listen--no one, no matter what
happens, will ever know what I have just done."

And now she, the giver of a gift, knelt--knelt to her adorer who was
prostrated before her like a victim. Her shining knees touched the
cheap common carpet. Her chastity clothed her like a beautiful
garment. She murmured broken words of gratitude, as though she felt
that what she was doing was higher than her duty and more beautiful,
and that it glorified her.

. . . . .

After she dressed and left the room without their having dared to say
anything to each other, I wavered between two doubts. Was she right,
or was she wrong? I saw the man cry and I heard him mutter:

"Now I shall not be able to die."

CHAPTER XII

The man was lying in bed. They moved about him carefully. He stirred
faintly, said a few words, asked for a drink, smiled and then became
silent under the rush of thoughts.

That morning they had seen him fold his hands, and they had asked him
whether he wanted them to send for a pr