sensation. I have
told him that I am a Beigian lady who has lost her loved ones and is
alone in the world. He has told me his life story very sketchily, as
if he desired to forget a hated past. . . . Never one disagreeable word
about his former wife. There are nights when I think that he knows me,
that he takes advantage of his blindness in order to prolong his feigned
ignorance, and that distresses me. I long for him to recover his sight,
for the doctors to save that doubtful eye--and yet at the same time, I
feel afraid. What will he say when he recognizes me? . . . But no; it
is better that he should see, no matter what may result. You cannot
understand my anxiety, you cannot know what I am suffering."

She was silent for an instant, trying to regain her self-control, again
tortured with the agony of her soul.

"Oh, the war!" she resumed. "What changes in our life! Two months ago,
my present situation would have appeared impossible, unimaginable. . . .
I caring for my husband, fearing that he would discover my identity and
leave me, yet at the same time, wishing that he would recognize me
and pardon me. . . . It is only one week that I have been with him. I
disguise my voice when I can, and avoid words that may reveal the truth
. . . but this cannot keep up much longer. It is only in novels that
such painful situations turn out happily."

Doubt suddenly overwhelmed her.

"I believe," she continued, "that he has recognized me from the first.
. . . He is silent and feigns ignorance because he despises me . . .
because he can never bring himself to pardon me. I have been so bad!
. . . I have wronged him so!". . .

She was recalling the long and reflective silences of the wounded man
after she had dropped some imprudent words. After two days of submission
to her care, he had been somewhat rebellious, avoiding going out with
her for a walk. Because of his blind helplessness, and comprehending
the uselessness of his resistance, he had finally yielded in passive
silence.

"Let him think what he will!" concluded Marguerite courageously. "Let
him despise me! I am here where I ought to be. I need his forgiveness,
but if he does not pardon me, I shall stay with him just the same.
. . . There are moments when I wish that he may never recover his sight,
so that he may always need me, so that I may pass my life at his side,
sacrificing everything for him."

"And I?" said Desnoyers.

Marguerite looked at him with clouded e