“I had not the right to enter here,” I muttered. “I—” I stopped short; to explain would only be to sully, and so, “Good-night! Adieu!” I ended brusquely.
“But, monsieur—” she began.
“Let me go,” I commanded almost roughly, as I shook my arm free of her grasp.
“Bethink you that you are exhausted. If you go forth now, monsieur, you will assuredly be taken. You must not go.”
I laughed softly, and with some bitterness, too, for I was angry with myself.
“Hush, child,” I said. “Better so, if it is to be.”
And with that I drew aside the curtains and pushed the leaves of the window apart. She remained standing in the room, watching me, her face pale, and hex eyes pained and puzzled.
One last glance I gave her as I bestrode the rail of her balcony. Then I lowered myself as I had ascended. I was hanging by my hands, seeking with my foot for the coping of the window beneath me, when, suddenly, there came a buzzing in my ears. I had a fleeting vision of a white figure leaning on the balcony above me; then a veil seemed drawn over my eyes; there came a sense of falling; a rush as of a tempestuous wind; then—nothing.