The morning found her still at her post. Breitmann awoke early, and appeared to take little interest in his surroundings.
"Why do you waste your time?" his voice was colorless.
"I am not wasting my time, Karl."
His head rolled slowly over on the pillow till he could see outside.
Only two or three fishing-boats were visible.
"When will the yacht sail?"
Always that question! "Go to sleep. I will wake you when I see it."
"I've been a scoundrel, Hildegarde;" and he closed his eyes.
Where would she go when he left this room? For the future was always rising up with this question. What would she do, how would she live? She too shut her eyes.
The door opened. The visitor was M. Ferraud. He touched his lips with a finger and stole toward the bed.
"Better?"