“I too, had a terrible dream,” he said. “I suppose the effects are still upon me.” Then he looked calmly and fixedly at her.
“You were downstairs a few moments ago,” he said. “Why?”
She looked surprised. “Did you see me?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No,” he said. “It was your American friend.”
Her face grew thoughtful. “Then the power is coming back,” she said. “I wonder why.”
He seated himself beside her. “Of course,” he said, “it was not really yourself?”
“I have not left this couch for three hours,” she said. “All the same, I wanted to have a peep at you all.”
“I hope you will not exercise that power too frequently,” he said. “You know I never liked it.”
“I know,” she said, smiling up at his grave face, “that you were always afraid I should not come back from my flights, but I always do. They send me—very much against my will—still, I must obey.”
She sighed. Then after a moment she put out her hand with a caressing little gesture. “What was your terrible dream?” she said. “I see it is troubling you still. You are distrait and absent. Tell me.”