Yes, he really was feverish. His hands trembled, and the blood throbbed in his temples.
He led the way, and Leo pushed quickly past him; secure already of victory, but as full of dread and shame as if he had been defeated. He found her stretched on a lounge, her face buried in the cushions. She appeared to have sunk down there after the mental excitement of the last quarter of an hour. A tea-gown of primrose-coloured, coarse-fibred silk hung about her limbs in negligée folds. His diamond flashed on the hand which she held out to him without changing her position.
"Shut the door," she whispered.
He obeyed.
Then she lifted her face for the first time. Her eyes were red from crying.
"How had she been able to manufacture tears for this farce?" he asked himself.
"Oh, I was so ashamed of myself," she murmured.
Ah! she had been ashamed; that would account for it. And he began to console her. He told her this horrible hour must be got over.... Later, of course, there would be no more double dealing; every action of theirs must pass above-board before Ulrich's eyes.
"That was understood before," she exclaimed, offended that he had thought it necessary to remind her.
And in the midst of her distress she smiled at him--a coy, happy smile.