"All, except that my couch is empty save for myself and my memories!"
"Not more than mine, nor with sadder memories, Madam."
"Why, what do you mean?" she asked me suddenly. "What do you mean?" She repeated it again, as though half in horror.
"Only that we are equal and alike. That we are here on the same errand. That our view of life should be the same."
"What do you mean about home? But tell me, were you not then married?"
"No, I am alone, Madam. I never shall be married."
There may have been some slight motion of a hand which beckoned me to a seat at the opposite side of the table. As I sat, I saw her search my face carefully, slowly, with eyes I could not read. At last she spoke, after her frequent fashion, half to herself.
"It succeeded, then!" said she. "Yet I am not happy! Yet I have failed!"
"I pause, Madam," said I, smiling. "I await your pleasure."
"Ah, God! Ah, God!" she sighed. "What have I done?" She staggered to her feet and stood beating her hands together, as was her way when perturbed. "What have I done!"