The light fell on the delicate features of Madelaine. She smiled with pleasure, seeing him.
They entered and stood together—a song was being sung—and as the last chords were struck, she slipped her hand within his arm; and he left it there. She shared the cordial greeting that Noll received from the faded poets and frequenters of the place. She was very beautiful—but her face pathetically pale. Noll noticed a dizzy tendency to cling to his arm, as though she feared to fall. He found a table, and made her sit down beside him.
“Madelaine,” said he—“you look as if you wanted food.”
She sighed sadly:
“Ah, yes—for years,” she said.
He called for a drink and some biscuits for her; and whilst they were being brought, he asked her:
“What became of you, Madelaine—after the old widow Snacheur was killed?”
She sighed sadly:
“I went to work in a millinery shop.” She shrugged her slender shoulders. “They starved me too,” she said—“just like the widow Snacheur. So——”
She slipped her hand through his arm, laid her head against his shoulder, and smiled: