He had been kind. She reflected that he had been as kind as he knew how to be. She felt ashamed of her selfishness, and she felt, too, that, within a few hours, it would matter little to her whether she lived in France or America.
"You're right," she said. "Forgive me. It's very late. You say you want to leave early. We had better go to bed."
She thought it strange that he had not asked her to go with him to Lyons, for she remembered his vow never to leave her alone again. Yet she knew that, had he asked her to go with him, thus breaking his rule never to bring her into touch with business, she would have regarded that as a sign that he was suspicious. So she lay awake and was silent, and in the morning accompanied him up the hill to the station and watched him climb aboard his train.
She spent the entire day in a restless waiting for the night. She tried to think of some way to get word to von Klausen and could think of none. As the evening came and darkened, she became more and more afraid. When nine o'clock followed eight, she grew afraid of something else: she grew afraid that the Austrian would not keep his appointment. She welcomed him in an almost hysterical manner when, at half-past nine, he was shown into her drawing-room.
"You shouldn't," she said—"you shouldn't have come!"
Von Klausen was in the evening clothes of a civilian. He looked young and handsome.
"Why not?" he asked.
"Because of Jim."
"He invited me."
"Yes, I know, but——" She clasped her fingers before her and knitted her fingers.