"Come to the open window. The air in this room is hot. Come and look at the May moon, ma bien aimée".
She let him draw her arm through his and lead her to the window, where they stood a while in the lilac-scented hush of what could scarcely be imagined a London night.
"The world is so much bigger than this room," he proclaimed.
"I need no lover to tell me that," she whispered.
How wonderful it would be to go right away ... right away....
She allowed herself to be enfolded in his arms. Moonlight and the perfume of lilac and a tale of green islands murmured in her ear held her entranced. Bewitched by the imagination of love enduring forever, she looked up at him. Her hands were upon his shoulders in appeal, and then there was a tap on the door. Mary sprang away from Pierre and stood quivering like a sapling released from the woodcutter's grasp.
"What is it, nurse?"
"If you please, ma'am, I shan't rest till you've had a look at Master Richard. After he came back from school he said he had a headache, but I didn't like to worry you without cause. Only now he says his throat is so bad, and really I don't like the looks of him at all."
Mary did not wait to make any apologies to Pierre, but hurried upstairs to where in his little room, of which he was so proud, her eldest son was tossing upon his bed and muttering rapid nonsense with fever's thick and troubled accents.
"Dearest boy, is your throat very bad? Let me look at your chest. Turn the gas higher, nurse. I want to see if there's any rash. Give me your hand, Richard. Lie still, my darling, a minute. Mother wants to feel your pulse. Nurse, ring for Pinkney and tell her to go at once for Dr. Marlow."