"You are kind, Maurice," she murmured.
She felt exactly like a tired child, now that she had been made so comfortable, and she liked Maurice so much, oh! so much! no brother could have been dearer.
"You won't go way without waking me, Maurice," she said as he bent down to kiss her.
"No, no, of course not," he replied; "it still wants a quarter before ten."
The screen shut off all the glare from the candles. The sense of isolation was complete and delicious: the roses smelt very sweet, the soft strains of the waltz sounded like elfin music.
V
Like elfin music—tender, fitful, dreamy!—an exquisite languor stole into Crystal's limbs. She was not asleep, yet she was in dreamland—all alone in semi-darkness, that was restful and soothing, and with the fragrance of crimson roses in her nostrils and their velvety petals brushing against her cheek.
Like elfin music!—sweet strains of infinite sadness—the tune of the Infinite mingling with the semblance of reality!
Like elfin music—or like the voice of a human being in pain—the note of sadness became the only real note now!
What really happened after this Crystal never rightly knew. Whenever in the future her memory went back to this hour, she could not be sure whether in truth she had been waking or dreaming, or at what precise moment she became fully conscious of a presence close beside her—just behind the bank of roses—and of a voice—low, earnest, quivering with passionate emotion—that reached her ear as if through the tender melodies played by the orchestra.