Why don’t you come? I have been looking for you for ever so long. Come in some evening soon.
Angelica.
The evening after the letter was mailed, she got up and dressed herself, trembling with weakness, hardly able to stand, but quite self-possessed. She didn’t feel the slightest emotion at the prospect of seeing Vincent again—nothing but a dogged resolution to make him give her money.
She attempted no attitude, made no plan of what she would say to him, because she knew now how helpless she was in his hands. He would direct the interview; he would give the key-note; it would all depend upon his mood. She couldn’t influence him. She didn’t even take pains with her appearance, for she knew that it didn’t lie with her to move him. It depended upon the condition of his own mysterious soul.
She had hardly expected him so soon. He came that same evening, but, from the very sound of his footsteps as he followed her along the hall to the tiny parlour, she could feel that he was sullen and reluctant, and her heart sank.
"Oh, if only I didn’t have to bother with him!" she thought. "If only I didn’t have to see him ever again! And I’ve got to be nice to him and ask him for money!"
They entered the parlour, and sat down in silence.
"Angelica!" he said abruptly, with a frown. "Why did you leave me?"
"I wanted to——”
"I was amazed. I was shocked. You behaved——” He hesitated for a moment, then went on severely: "You behaved like a light woman. I thought you were faithful and constant and sincere; and then, after one week——”