"Yes, I remember very well how your horses galloped with me under the gateway arch." This was her long-standing fancy, and Eugene now was injudicious enough to remark that was not quite what had happened.
"It is not for nothing that I have always said, and have often remarked to the prince, that it is hardest of all to live with people who are untruthful and insincere; I can endure anything except that."
"Well, if anyone has to suffer more than another, it is certainly I," said Eugene. "But you . . ."
"Yes, it is evident."
"What?"
"Nothing, I am only counting my stitches."
Eugene was standing at the time by the bed and Liza was looking at him, and one of her moist hands outside the coverlet caught his hand and pressed it. "Bear with her for my sake. You know she cannot prevent our loving one another," was what her look said.
"I won't do so again. It's nothing," whispered he, and he kissed her damp, long hand and then her affectionate eyes, which closed while he kissed them.
"Can it be the same thing over again?" he asked. "How are you feeling?"
"I am afraid to say, for fear of being mistaken, but I feel that he is alive and will live," said she, glancing at her stomach.