CHAPTER XXXIV
In her own room—Valeria's old blue room—she stood late the next evening, in her night-gown, before the fireplace.
"Well, Mazeppa, we've had a good run for it; but it's ill-going when one's bound—and when death follows." Only her lips stirred at the opening of the door. "That you, Ethan?"
He came in and shut the door behind him.
"These things I ordered for you in Paris came this morning," he said, speaking very low.
"What are they?" she asked, still staring at the bas-relief.
"A turquoise girdle for your beautiful white body, and a turquoise comb for your hair."
"Oh, beautiful! beautiful!" she said, as he, standing behind her, held the things across her shoulder before her eyes; "but beautiful beyond anything!" She took them in her hands. "It was dear of you—" She stopped as she glanced over her shoulder and saw the look in his eyes. Her own went down before them, and slowly filled, but no tear fell. With an effort she seemed to force the salt-water drops back to their deep well. When she spoke, it was in a tone deliberately quiet, even every-day: "You say I've always counted so serenely on being happy; you don't know how I've dreaded getting to be too old to wear pale blue." She fondled the stones of the girdle and laid the heart-shaped clasp against her cheek.