Louise went out and Emilie was left alone. She looked around the bright, cosy sitting-room, stamped with the gentle personality of its owner: there were many books about; the doors of a book-case were open.
“The dear girl!” thought Emilie, lying back wearily in a chair. “She lives her own life peacefully ... and, when there’s anything wrong, she’s the one who helps. Her life just goes on, the same thing day after day! She was a girl while we were still children; and, properly speaking, we never knew her as we know one another. She’s fond of Otto, just as I’m very fond of Otto ... but, apart from that, her life just goes on in the same way.... She’s always silent.... She just lives and reads up here ... and, if there’s anything wrong, she’s the one who helps.... What have I done, my God, what have I done!... But I won’t go back!...”
Louise returned, with a glass of wine and a few biscuits.
“We’re dining presently,” she said. “There, drink that and be sensible, Emilie. Does Eduard know you’re here?”
“No. He was out when I left. I waited till he was out.... Louise, I won’t go back! I’ve telegraphed to Henri to help me. I’m expecting him here.”
They heard voices below.
“Listen!” said Louise.
“Who is it?”
“Perhaps it’s some one who has come late.... But that’s impossible.... I hear a noise on the stairs....”
“My God!” cried Emilie. “It’s Eduard! Hide me! Say you don’t know where I am!”