She took the comb from Athalie's hair and loosened the plaits with a skillful hand, and then again dressed the richly flowing chestnut locks for the night in a simple coil.
She took out the earrings, and her head came so near to Athalie's that the latter could not help seeing the two contrasting faces in the mirror.
One so radiant, rosy, and fascinating, the other so pale and soft; and yet Athalie sprung up angrily and pushed away the glass. "Let us go to sleep." The white face had thrown hers into the shade. Timéa collected the scattered clothes and folded them neatly together by instinct.
Then she knelt before Athalie and took off her stockings. Athalie permitted it.
And after Timéa had drawn them off, and held the snow-white foot, more perfect than a sculptor's ideal, in her lap, she bent and pressed a kiss on it. Athalie permitted that too.
BOOK SECOND.—TIMÉA.
CHAPTER I.
GOOD ADVICE.
Lieutenant Katschuka went through the café and found Timar there gulping down a cup of black coffee. "I am soaked and frozen, and have a great deal still to do to-day," he said to the officer, who hastened to press his hand.
"Come and have a glass of punch with me."