'I've just put him out.'
'Then—that in the kitchen.'
'He's out likewise. There, there, go to bed like a good dear. There is no help—it must be.'
'Geneviève, I asked Mr. John Herring to send you away. You frightened me. I am very sorry. Will you forgive me for doing so?'
'To be sure I will. I am not one to bear malice.'
'Do you really think, Geneviève, that he is alive?'
'I do. I cannot doubt it.'
'Oh, promise me, if ever you see him, and I not, tell him'—she paused—'tell him that now I wish, with all my heart, I had loved him as he deserved.'
Then she went upstairs again, in the same slow, reluctant manner, step by step, ascending backward, feeling each step behind her with her bare foot before planting it, and raising herself to the higher level, and she kept her eyes fixed on Genefer as though dreading to lose sight of her. At last Mirelle's hand, feeling behind her, touched the latch of her door, and the chill of the metal sent a shiver through her.
Slowly, very slowly, she pressed the door open behind her, walking backwards still, with a sad despairing look in her large dark eyes fixed on Genefer.