Again he fixed his little dark eyes upon me; he was evidently completely puzzled.
“You have only known him a week, and yet you know that—that he and I are not strangers?”
“I learned it by accident,” I answered.
Obviously he did not believe me; he hesitated for a moment to put his disbelief into words, and in the meantime I made a bold stroke.
“Have you seen Adelaide Fortress yet?” I asked.
His face changed. He looked at me half in wonder, half eagerly; his whole expression had softened.
“Not yet,” he said; “I am waiting to know where she is; I would go to her to-day—if only I dared—if only I dared!”
His dark eyes were lit with passion; a pale shade seemed to have crept in upon the sallowness of his cheeks.
“When you talk of her,” he said, speaking rapidly, and with his voice thick with some manner of agitation, “you make me forget everything! You make me forget who you are, who she is, where we are! I remember only that she exists! Oh, my God!”
I laid my hand upon his coat sleeve.