Madelaine sat on the side of the bed and undressed.
It was a sadly simple undressing.
She was languid with sleep.
Noll went and looked out of the window, where Paris lay below him, blinking her thousand eyes....
He roused and went to the bed.
The dark head on the pillow lay very still. The girl was fast asleep.
Noll went back to the window—it was the window from which Horace had gazed down upon the world the night before Noll and Betty had come to Paris.
And as Noll so stood, his brows hard knit upon the problems of his life, the night slowly passed.
The rustle of a woman’s skirt had been in his ears all day—in his blood. This girl had brought back to him, of a sudden, the fragrance of his marriage.
And this beautiful winsome girl—what was to be the end?