She began to cry.
“Do not you love me any more, Philip?”
“I have come back to you,” he answered; “but my head is rather confused. And, Madame, you are spoiling your complexion with these tears.”
“Hush!” she cried.
She ran to the dainty hangings that concealed the door, raised them, and listened.
“Some one is coming!”
She hastened back to him and half dragged, half pushed him to a secret door; as she touched a spring it flew open, and he stepped with a laugh into the concealment of a dark secret room that was filled with a bitter, pungent perfume. He closed his eyes; there was a heaviness in his head; he could not tell how long he had been closed in when the sliding panel was drawn.
“It was a false alarm after all,” said the woman.
Her black hair hung dishevelled on her brocade gown, her hollow face was pale and her eyes stormy.
“Did you say that you must leave Bois-le-Duc to-morrow?” she demanded hoarsely.