“What?”
Mrs. D’Alloi put her arms about Leonore. “The Anarchists have exploded a bomb.”
“Yes?” said Leonore.
“And it killed a great many of the soldiers.”
“Not—?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you, mamma,” said Leonore. She unclasped her mother’s arms, and went towards the door.
“Leonore,” cried her mother, “stay here with me, dear.”
“I’d rather be alone,” said Leonore, quietly. She went upstairs to her room and sank down by an ottoman which stood in the middle of the floor. She sat silent and motionless, for over an hour, looking straight before her at nothing, as Peter had so often done. Is it harder to lose out of life the man or woman whom one loves, or to see him or her happy in the love of another. Is the hopelessness of the impossible less or greater than the hopelessness of the unattainable?
Finally Leonore rose, and touched her bell. When her maid came she said, “Get me my travelling dress.” Ten minutes later she came into the library, saying to Watts.