"Yes."
"Will you—"
"I'll wait till the curtain goes up, and then slip out."
Again there was a silence. Charmian broke it at length by saying:
"I think Monsieur Gillier might have come to see us to-night. It would have been natural if he had visited our box."
"Perhaps he will come presently."
A bell sounded. The third act was about to begin.
Soon after the curtains had once more parted, disclosing a marvellous desert scene which drew loud applause from the audience, Claude got up softly from his seat.
"I'll slip away now," he whispered.
She felt for his hand in the dimness, found it, squeezed it. She longed to get up, to put her lips to his, to breath some word—she knew not the word it would be—of encouragement, of affection. Tears rushed into her eyes as she felt the touch of his flesh. As the door shut behind him she moved quite to the back of the box and put her handkerchief to her eyes. She had great difficulty just then in not letting the tears run over her face. For several minutes she scarcely heard the music or knew what was happening upon the stage. There was a tumult of feeling within her which she did not at all fully understand, perhaps because even now she was fighting, fighting blindly, desperately, but with courage.