"Death!" Lily repeated.
She too was pale. Maurice continued in a low voice.
"I understood the meaning of the cry, and I did not enter the inner room. No, I walked back to my writing table, put my hands over my ears—to deaden the cry—and gave myself again to work. How long I worked I don't know, but presently I heard a loud knocking at the door of my room. I sprang up and opened it. My landlady stood outside.
"'What do you want?' I asked.
"The good woman's face was grave.
"'Sir, I know that child must be ill,' she said.
"'Ill—why? What do you mean?'
"'Oh, sir, its crying is awful. It goes right through me.'
"I pushed the woman out almost roughly.
"'It is not ill,' I said. 'It is only restless. Leave me. Don't you see I am working?'