She said no more—just then; because my lips had smothered her last words.
As she sat up, I piled the pillows behind her. Her hair of greenish gold poured in a sparkling torrent down over her body. Her white arms still encircled my neck. She laughed—that laugh of mischievous girlish gaiety which I had always so much adored in her. I released myself from her embrace; and resting a knee upon the bed, and throwing an arm around her wonderful shoulders, I plunged my gaze into the bright lucid depths of her eyes.... And I forgot, I forgot, everything, everything!...
She said:
“Why, my hair is all down! I seem to have lost every comb, every pin to my name!” And she laughed aloud.
I listened with all my soul.
She drew up higher on the pillows, with an effort that brought the pallor to her face again. She cast a nervous glance about the room. I was afraid lest she perceive the bare walls, the grated window, the single wicker chair—afraid lest, perceiving them, she take fright at her strange surroundings, and kill the smile of trustfulness and confidence that lingered entrancingly on her lips.... But no! The invisible blinder was securely fastened upon her eyes. She saw nothing unusual in that chamber which was our prison.
She asked simply:
“What time is it? Surely not yet seven o’clock?”
When I answered I too summoned a smile: