Wanda turned and looked at him with an odd little laugh, and there were tears in her eyes.
“Oh! you may know that,” she said, suddenly descending from the uncertain heights of generality. “You may be quite sure of that. If that is what you want.”
“That is what I want.”
As he spoke he took her hand and slowly raised it to his lips. She looked at his bent head, and when her eyes rested on the gray hairs at his temples, they lighted suddenly with a gleam which was strangely protecting and dimly maternal.
“I want you to go away from Warsaw,” she said. “I would rather you went even if you say—that you are afraid to stay.”
“I cannot say that.”
“Besides,” she added, with her head held high, “they would not believe you if you did.”
“I promise you,” he answered, “not to run any risks, to take every care. But we must not see each other. I may have to go away without seeing you.”
She gave a little nod of comprehension, and held her lips between her teeth. She was looking towards the door; for she had heard voices in that direction.
“I should like,” she said, “to make you a promise in return. It would give me great satisfaction. Some day you may, perhaps, be glad to remember it.”