“Do you feel ready for your sleep?” she asked, for Jason nearly always slept uninterruptedly from nine till midnight.
“Yes: I think I do.”
So she went over to him, smoothed his pillow, drew the sheet above his shoulders, and kissed him.
“Good-night, husband,” she said, and kissed him again. “Good-night, little boy,” she added, kissing him a third time.
She resumed her work; but after a time, when she was sure he was safely asleep, she rose, put on her hat, turned out the lamp, and crept softly to the door.
Out in the street, she began her mission, doing with a brave heart but with shrinking flesh what tens of thousands of women have done for the husbands they have loved.
Turning down Rue Venizelos, she reached the quay and entered a café where loose women plied their wares. She did not dare to sit down, for she had no money with which to purchase a drink; so she walked slowly through the café as though seeking some one.
Now, Artemis was not beautiful, but she possessed something more powerful, more subtly attractive than beauty. She had innocence—innocence dwelt on her face, and the spirit of innocence surrounded her like a halo. She was afraid of what she was about to do, but she did not hesitate. She remembered that it had been said that there was no greater love than the love which constrains a man to lay down his life for his friend. But honour was dearer than life.
She loitered in the noisy café for a minute, and as she was about to turn and leave, a man’s insistent gaze caught her eyes and held them. She smiled. He beckoned her. Walking towards him, she sat down at the table by his side.
“You are new to this game, aren’t you?” he said frankly, but not unkindly. “What can I order you?”