She pressed her hands to her eyes to steady herself.
"And how long will it last?" she said solemnly, her voice reverberating in the hollow of the silent hall. "Three months, Barabant? And then—"
"For life—forever!"
Nicole shook her head incredulously, but her breast rose in long, tumultuous breaths, trembling with the memory of the word.
He mounted the stairs, turned and held out his hand to her. She dared not look at him, for victory was in his eyes.
"Nicole, Nicole!"
Then she looked at him, her hands to her throat, fallen back against the wall. He smiled to her, waiting confidently. Up the dark ascent was love, mystery, anguish, jealousy, doubt,—but always love.
She moved a step toward him, fascinated and drawn on, until their fingers touched. Then suddenly she shrank away, and with a cry, spreading out her hands to screen him from her sight, she fled. Only the instinct had survived, but the instinct had conquered.