sweetish odor of dust.
They cast great shadows on the wall, and the round soft shapes quivered
gently. Billy shook in boundless disgust: why was she here, what had
she to do here? Ah yes, she loved Boris, that was it. Well, how had
that been?--could she not feel it again, that hot sensation of
compassion and longing which changed everything in her, gave her
courage for all possibilities, and made the utterly impossible a matter
of course. Even for that she was too tired now. She wanted to sleep
now--somewhere where it would be quiet and secure and clean. She closed
her eyes again, so as not to see this room, and tried to think of home,
but these thoughts also gave her no rest, but pained her. So she wished
to think of something quite peaceful, something that could make no
reproaches: of the furniture in the sun-parlor, standing in the
darkness under their white cotton covers, or of the great bouquets of
flowers which were withering there in the vases, and showering their
petals on the table with a very soft rustle. Yes, she would think of
those, only of those things.

Yet she must have slept a little after all, for as she now started up
it seemed to her as if she had been away somewhere where she was quite
safe and where she heard familiar voices, and now she was again falling
abruptly into this alien dream. It was still here, this room with the
stuffy air, the walls with the gently quivering shadows, and the soft
red cushions sat round about her waiting, as if they were still present
and must be continued in her dreams. And then some one else stood there
before the bed, quite motionless. It was Boris, but he too strangely
alien and uncanny. The flickering light of the candle sent shadows
driving across his face, and it seemed as if it were being distorted
and only the dark specks of eyes were unswervingly fixed on her. Weary
and discouraged Billy leaned back on the pillows and closed her eyes.

"What has happened," she said quite softly.

"Nothing has happened," answered Boris similarly.

"Is he gone?" queried Billy further.

"Yes, Ladislas is gone."

"Why do you stand there so?"

When Boris did not answer, Billy repeated the question in a whimpering,
wailing tone. Then she heard him sink down beside the bed. He flung his
arms about her, she felt his face lying cold and heavy on her breast,
and felt a strange quiver shake his body, as if he were weeping.

"Didn't you say everything would be all right?" said B