"Thank you, thank you!" she said. "Oh, I wish I had something to give you to remember me by! ... I have not any money." She made a hesitating gesture towards a ring on her finger. He interrupted her:
"Let that alone, child—I shall not forget you. Good night ... and be good!"
He knocked for her; stood firmly planted on the pavement, watching her entrance and smiling into his whiskers.
* * * * *
"I am the Countess Kielmansegg," said Sidonia to the sleepy porter. "Show me to the count's room."
Her tone was imperious. The man stared sullenly a moment, then swallowed a yawn; he had but just been roused from a comfortable nap to take up the night work, and the only perception awake in him was an acute sense of injury. Without a word, he turned and led the way up the square, dark stairs to the second floor. Before Steven's door his slouch came to a halt; he lifted a hand to knock, but she arrested him.
"Is that the room? You may go," she said.
She waited till his heavy foot had tramped the whole downward way, then, with a sudden overwhelming feeling that if she hesitated now her courage would after all fail her, she turned the handle of the door and went quickly in.
The room was deserted. As she realized this, Sidonia's heart seemed to empty itself of the hopes, the yearnings, even the terror, which had so filled it these last hours. All became a blank, a void. Never for a moment had she contemplated the possibility of Steven's absence. She closed the door and sank dully on the first chair. Presently the sense of shelter, the warmth about her, the serenity of the silence and solitude, began to soothe her into comfort. She lifted her head and looked around. The room was lighted by an oil lamp on the table; fire was lapping in the china stove; sundry chattels of Steven's were scattered about; his valise gaped, still open, in a corner. No fear, then, but that he would return to-night.
The vague fragrance of the lavender scent he liked brought his presence suddenly and vividly to her. The little bride melted into tears. She was worn out; her aching feet stung her as she held them against the warm porcelain of the stove. Her whole being seemed melted, her spirit broken; but there was a balm sweeter than triumph in this hour of her woman's surrender. All Betty's words, her gibes and threats, even what had seemed to be actual proofs of Steven's deceit, passed from her mind, as if washed away by these healing tears. There are moments when the soul can see beyond facts.