A light was visible in the garret, feebly struggling through the damp atmosphere, for the night was raw and overcast. Had he been sick in the mind when he had done this damnable thing? It did not seem possible, for he could recall clearly all he had said and done; there were no blank spaces to give him one straw of excuse. “What do you mean, hanging round with my wife?” he answered fiercely. I'm not interested in him. \" They talked until midnight most nights. The material cares of life hang about your neck like a millstone. . ’ ‘Because I was a servant in the vicomte’s house? Things have changed. He was smiling under his heavy mustache, and his head was a little on one side as he looked at her. ” She was silent for a time, with her nose on the pillow, and that brought her to: “What’s the good of pretending? “I love him,” she said aloud to the dim forms of her room, and repeated it, and went on to imagine herself doing acts of tragically dog-like devotion to the biologist, who, for the purposes of the drama, remained entirely unconscious of and indifferent to her proceedings.
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