The waiting employee glanced at the two tickets and then handed them back, one to Curtis and one to Lindbohm.
"Here," said the latter; "he made a mistake. I've got your ticket, 'John Curtis, Tri—' What does this mean? Why are you going to Trieste?"
"Lindbohm," said Curtis, laying his hand on the Swede's arm, "Panayota isn't in Athens."
"Is she in Trieste? Why are you fooling me?"
"I'm not fooling you. I couldn't tell you because I thought you'd want me to go and see her, and bid her good-bye. And I couldn't do it. I just couldn't. It would be too painful for both of us, and it wouldn't do any good."
"Why shouldn't you go and see her? And why should you bid her good-bye? I don't understand."
"You will understand when I tell you. She's a leper. I saw her myself, with my own eyes, as we passed through their village. She isn't like those other horrible creatures yet, of course, but she will be in time. My God, Lindbohm, think of what an escape I've had! I was so wrapped up in the girl that I actually thought of marrying her—after a while. Suppose I had done so, and it had broken out on her afterward!"
The Lieutenant was very pale. When he spoke his voice was low and unnaturally distinct, and he divided his sentence into groups of two and three words, like a man who is making a superhuman effort to control himself.
"And what about—this young woman—who went to Athens?"
"O, she's somebody else. I couldn't be mistaken in Panayota—I tell you I saw her, man. Why, I was as close to her as from here to that mast yonder."