“Well, she is. You needn’t start and let me go. She’s nothing to you.”
“Why should she be? Who told you?”
“He did.”
She gulped, but did not stir.
“Tell me honest,” she said. “Is it for my sake, or for hers, that you’re so anxious all of a sudden to be good?”
He delayed to answer. She gripped him, quickly and fiercely.
“If I knew for certain what I’ve feared,” she cried low, “I’d kiss and cling until you gave me back what I’ve lost—I would, for all it damned us both together.”
She broke from him, and went hurriedly out of the room. Reaching the invalid’s door above, she paused to the sound of a little cry within, hesitated, and entered.
Louis-Marie was sitting up on his bed. His eyes were wide with fever. He greeted her appearance with something like a sob.
“Who is it?” he whispered. “Has he come? My God, don’t keep me in this suspense!”