‘O—yes.’ She was hardly conscious of her words, for the hand he had ungloved in order to take hers was contorted, and had one or two of its fingers missing; while through the mask she discerned the twinkle of one eye only.
‘I would give anything to kiss you, dearest, now, at this moment!’ he continued, with mournful passionateness. ‘But I cannot—in this guise. The servants are abed, I suppose?’
‘Yes,’ said she. ‘But I can call them? You will have some supper?’
He said he would have some, but that it was not necessary to call anybody at that hour. Thereupon they approached the table, and sat down, facing each other.
Despite Barbara’s scared state of mind, it was forced upon her notice that her husband trembled, as if he feared the impression he was producing, or was about to produce, as much as, or more than, she. He drew nearer, and took her hand again.
‘I had this mask made at Venice,’ he began, in evident embarrassment. ‘My darling Barbara—my dearest wife—do you think you—will mind when I take it off? You will not dislike me—will you?’
‘O Edmond, of course I shall not mind,’ said she. ‘What has happened to you is our misfortune; but I am prepared for it.’
‘Are you sure you are prepared?’
‘O yes! You are my husband.’
‘You really feel quite confident that nothing external can affect you?’ he said again, in a voice rendered uncertain by his agitation.