"This is the last time, Marcella, that there'll be any need to be very sorry," he said solemnly. "I was going to clear out for good, but Kraill made me come back."
"That's all very well, too. Professor Kraill is going away. He doesn't have to put up with you. He doesn't have to sleep with you. You will be drunk to-night, and every night when there's any money. And next day you'll be whining about it. I've lost hope now. I'm tired, tired of to-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow."
Kraill's eyes were on her. The echo of a cock that crowed outside a door in Jerusalem nineteen hundred years ago came to her and her eyes filled with tears.
"Oh I'm so sorry! You asked me for my courage," she said to Kraill.
"There's no need for it now—on Louis's account, Marcella. You believe what I say to you, don't you?"
He smiled at her; he looked very friendly, very kindly.
"You know I believe you!" she cried.
"Then I tell you that Louis is quite better now. He is going to take care of you and Andrew. I can't prove it to you, yet. But you will see it as time goes on."
"I don't want him any more," she cried, "I want you—Oh no—no—!"
His eyes held hers again, tragic and terrible. Then again he smiled, and she felt that she had failed him.