Day by day Onias meant more to her. Each Sunday, as she sat sewing little garments for his and her baby, she tried to recall every word he had spoken to her. There were hours when she thought of him with tenderness, almost with love. He was the father of her child. Jason had never been that.
She began to make discreet inquiries about Onias, but without much result. As she sat in her little room during the winter evenings, she dreamed impossible dreams. She pictured herself married to Onias, protected and loved by him. There was no more anxiety about money, no more fear of the future. Her child would....
In the middle of one of these dreams, she was thrown back into the realities of life by the flame of her lamp burning low and expiring. She had neither oil nor money. She must sit in darkness.
But why should she endure small privations day after day when Onias was ready and anxious to receive her? After all, he wanted her and, in her heart of hearts, she wanted him. She must conquer her timidity. If she told Onias what had happened to her through him.... Well, why shouldn’t she? She would claim nothing from him; she would ask for nothing. She would go to see him as an old acquaintance, an old friend.
She sat in the dark screwing her courage to the sticking-point. She longed yet dreaded to go. At last—
“I will go to the café—he may be there,” she said. “I will meet him as though by accident.”
Having hurriedly donned her hat and cloak, she went out into the bitter, stormy night....
The warmth of the café welcomed her. The place was crowded, and for a few moments she could not distinguish one person from another in the smoke-laden atmosphere.
When half-way down the long room she felt a gentle pressure on her arm and, turning, saw Onias.
“Well, Lucette!” he exclaimed, holding out his hand.