He turned towards her on his cushions with a smile that was not prophetic of the tomb.
"Do I weary you?"
"Ah no, not that."
"Why then are you sad?"
She held up a white hand in the gloom of the room, her hair falling like a black cloud upon her bosom.
"Listen," she said to him.
"I am not deaf."
"The thunder of war."
"Well, well, my heart, should I fear it?"
"It is I who fear."