His heart beat quicker as he ascended the steps to the house. Since that day of the meeting on the island he had never been alone with her. She received him in the garden salon, the glass doors of which were partially closed to keep out the autumnal chilliness. She sat with her hands folded in her lap and did not cease smiling. This smile, in which melancholy, irony, and forgiveness were mingled, seemed to have been learnt by heart.
"It almost looks as if you were afraid of me, my friend," she said, as she hesitatingly offered him her hand.
"In all my life I have never feared death or devil," he said, forcing himself into a swaggering tone. "And certainly I have never been afraid of you."
"But you run away from me and avoid me whenever you can. I wouldn't mind betting that your coming to-day is a mistake. Had you remembered that Ulrich would not be at home ...?"
"Ah!" he interposed with a click of his tongue.
"But you can be quite easy in your mind. I won't bite you. No, I don't bite." And she showed the whole of her white set of teeth as she laughed.
He thought, "Thank God! she isn't fretting." And a feeling of satisfaction came back.
"You'll stay a few minutes, I hope," she said lightly. "I'll try and make up for Ulrich."
That sounded modest and ingenuous enough. He bowed assent.
"Then let us go to my room," she said; "there we shan't be disturbed."