"And yet you did not return," said the baroness. "Where did you go afterwards?"
"Oh, I'll tell you everything to-morrow. Good-night," said Anna, candle in hand.
"What! Now that we have waited, and in such anxiety, you will tell us nothing?"
"There really is nothing to tell. And I am so tired—good-night."
"We have kept the servants up and the kettle boiling in case you should want coffee."
"That was very kind, but I only want bed. Good-night."
"We too were weary, but you see we have waited in spite of it."
"Oh, you shouldn't have. You will be so tired. Good-night."
She went upstairs, pulling herself up each step by the baluster. The clock on the landing struck half-past three. Was it not Napoleon, she thought, who said something to the point about three-o'clock-in-the-morning courage? Had no one ever said anything to the point about three-o'clock-in-the-morning love for one's fellow-creatures? "Good-night," she said once more, turning her head and nodding wearily to them as they watched her from below with indignant faces.
She glanced at the clock, and went into her room dejectedly; for she had made a startling discovery: at three o'clock in the morning her feeling towards the Chosen was one of indifference verging on dislike.